Working Stiff
by spamightwrite
Summary: Jon Moxley ends up with a gig at Cyberfights, a company that produces somewhat questionable wrestling matches. There he meets Tyler Black, a cocky young man that intrigues him. Then they fuck. Mox/Black, with Mox/Jacobs and Mox/Black/Jacobs.
1. Chapter 1

"'Cyberfights?' The fuck is that?" Jon Moxley thought, reading from the wrinkled paper and placing an unlit cigarette between his lips. He'd found a folded-up, typed letter in the locker room after practice, having heard it crumple underneath his shoe as he was leaving. In addition to natural curiosity taking over, he had a long-rooted habit of picking up nearly anything he found on the ground – a survival mechanism invented by a child who'd practically raised himself.

The letter contained frustratingly little information. Simply the address to a small recreation center in the next city over, a time and day just a week hence, a phone number, and the rather vague title that was buzzing about his brain.

In spite of his encyclopedic knowledge of professional wrestling, of both the biggest stages of them all and the myriad of indy circuits he'd been working for in the past few years, he'd never once heard of... this.

"Stupidest name I ever heard of," Jon mumbled to himself behind his cigarette. Still, he was at the point in his career that he would work for any wrestling company that would take him, for any match, any time, against anyone. He was hungry in a manner that could only be satisfied by bigger and bigger success in the industry he loved.

Folding up the letter and stuffing it into his back pocket, he absently strolled out of the locker room and into the alley behind the gym. A familiar young man in a paisley bandana, a tank top and black shorts was leaning against the brick wall and spitting into an empty soda bottle next to the door. His intense, dark gray eyes twitched towards the opening door and locked onto Jon.

"Hey Sami," Jon greeted, giving the shorter man's shoulder a firm nudge.

Sami returned the favor with a slightly too-hard chop to Jon's chest, and the two traded joking but still painful blows before Jon settled against the wall next to him moments later. The two had been competing together in a tag team for long enough to consider each other friends, and Jon would go as far as to say Sami was like a younger brother to him. There really weren't any taboo subjects between them, being young, male, and vulgar.

"Y'ever heard of somethin' called Cyberfights?" he asked while he worked on lighting the cigarette dangling from his mouth. Sami had a similar wealth of knowledge about wrestling, and the two tended to fill in the holes in each others' memory banks.

Sami's eyes bulged out of his head and he broke out into a choking guffaw. It took him a moment for the coughing to die down, and after spitting a considerable amount of tobacco-infused saliva into the bottle, Sami was able to snicker through his response.

"Where'd you hear about that shit?" His eyes were nearly sparkling with anticipation. Almost as if he were about to reveal some scandalous, filthy secret.

After taking a long drag and exhaling, Jon retrieved the letter from his pocket and unfolded it for Sami to read himself. "Found this in the locker room," he explained as Sami glanced over the document.

"Probably Jacobs dropped it," his friend guessed. "He's done it before, mentioned it when he was shitfaced once."

"Done what?"

"He worked it before, it's just a... wrestling company." Sami drew out the last two words as if there was some innuendo behind them.

Clearly he wasn't letting on as much as he knew, and it was putting an annoyed lump in the pit of Jon's stomach. He snatched the paper away and snapped, "Shit, if you're not gonna tell me about it, nevermind."

Sami burst into another fit of giggling before patting Jon on the shoulder. "Okay, okay. You're gonna fuckin' piss yourself here. This is great."

Jon smirked, smoke escaping from between his teeth. He was ready to laugh off the massive amounts of confusion this stupid little letter had caused him. "What, do you get lightsabers or some shit?" He was familiar with some of the more irreverent companies, ones that had a bit more fun with the story portion of wrestling. In fact he recalled watching a match once where the stipulation involved time travel.

"No, man, not even close. Listen up, all right, I'm gonna tell you all about... Cyberfights." He was starting to use his "New Horror" voice, the one he put on while filming his threatening, ultraviolent promos.

Jon got comfortable. This was sure to take a little while.

Hunched over, using slow and deliberate hand gestures, Sami began his tale. "One cannot research the company known as Cyberfights. Nothing on the vast and abyssal internet can give you any real information about what it well and truly is. And even among those in the know, it is discussed only in hushed and fearful tones, whispered between performers, revealed only to those who ask."

"... Okaaaay." Jon eyed his friend with a large measure of exasperation. After all this buildup he was still no closer to figuring out what the hell this company was about.

"Performed with no audience, only to two cameras and a referee, the style focuses mainly on submission holds. It is filmed and sold quietly from the standalone website, which reveals nothing unless you have a paid subscription."

"Sounds like a porn site," Jon laughed, starting to bore a bit of the story.

There was a pregnant pause. Sami was absolutely beaming with mischief in his eyes.

Things were starting to click together. "What? Is it porn?"

"Of sorts." Sami dropped the theatrics and pulled a tin of chewing tobacco out of his shorts pocket. "It's porn for people who get off to pro wrestling. Money's pretty good, from what I hear. Better than a lot of the shows we've worked. That's what Jacobs said, at least."

Somehow it didn't surprise Jon that their acquaintance and oftentimes opponent Jimmy Jacobs had been involved in it. Even those without that proclivity could agree that he was kinda pretty.

"Damn, Jacobs," Jon shook his head in disbelief. "Gettin' paid to fuck. Lucky bastard."

"That's the thing though." Sami stuffed a bit of chewing tobacco between his lower lip and teeth. "It's softcore. Nobody gets naked, nobody fucks. Most people could watch it and think it's just wrestling."

"How is it porn if nobody fucks?" Mox took the last drag on his now much smaller cigarette and let it fall to the asphalt. From what he'd seen, pornography usually involved people having sex with each other. Or themselves. Or one of those fancy machines.

"It's kinda fucked up, right? People buy it, though. Takes all kinds, I guess."

Though it was baffling him to his core, the idea was intriguing. Not just getting paid more to do what he already loves to do, but the idea of wrestling just for the purpose of sexual arousal. The adrenaline and pumping blood of the act of wrestling and performing for a crowd had given Jon Moxley some odd moments in the ring, which were rather difficult to hide if he forgot to wear a jock strap or compression shorts.

Notwithstanding, he could admit to himself that he could get off on causing pain every now and then. His job wasn't necessarily to hurt people, on paper. But the more extreme the company, the more likely it was that he needed to cause some measure of pain to achieve certain spots. Such as powerbombing Drake Younger through a table, or tossing Robert Anthony onto a pane of safety glass. He would easily find himself tingling whenever he pricked someone in the forehead with his trademark fork.

Plus, wrestling was already a lot of sweaty, shirtless men grabbing each other for extended periods of time.

He could see the appeal.

"Might call that number," Jon said, somewhat quietly and without thinking. "Sounds like easy money."

Sami snickered and gave the taller man a rough pat on his cheek. "With that ugly mug? I don't think you'd even be allowed in the building."

"Hey, shut the fuck up." Jon riposted with a slap to Sami's wrist. "You know I'm super sexy champion of the world material." He shrugged. "Maybe not as sexy as Jacobs, but I'd fuck me if I could."

Like it did far more often than normal, Jon and Sami got into one of those "fuck, marry, kill" conversations about various members of the locker room that dragged far too long and were far too well-thought out to be entirely joking. Some time later they said their goodbyes and proceeded to their respective homes.

Jon Moxley made a phone call as soon as he shut the door behind him that afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

Several days later, a manila envelope arrived in the dented aluminum grid outside of his apartment building. It contained some necessary paperwork, release forms, the tedious roadblocks that tended to stand between him and the fun part. He was very familiar with it. He filled out all of the little required boxes with a chewed-up ballpoint pen, wearing only a pair of jeans in the unbearable summer heat.

It also provided him with a set of guidelines for the upcoming shoot. Most of them were standards he already knew: remember to sell hard, keep up the trash talk, don't be afraid to work a little stiff if it's agreed upon by both parties. There were several new ones, though.

Bridge every move possible.

Low blows encouraged.

Fight dirty. Real dirty.

Jon looked over the list with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. None of this was at all difficult to accomplish. In fact, some of these techniques were ones he employed regularly, being the natural heel that he was. This was sounding easier and easier by the minute. Hell, he might even enjoy himself.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, his long, muscular back making a short series of cracking sounds. A grunt of relief jumped out of his throat as he looked down at his pale, flat stomach and tight chest. He never considered himself to have particularly exceptional looks, but he could at least be confident that he had a body that a lot of men could envy.

It came to his mind that there would be people inclined to masturbate to the match he was about to have. Well, obviously. As unconventional as it was, it was still porn. But he hadn't really given much thought to the sort of people who would be watching him. Probably mostly men. He didn't mind that so much. But maybe some women, too. Maybe even some hot women. Maybe some hot men.

Mox was far too laid back to have identity crises. If somebody did it for him, that was it. There wasn't much of a question after that.

With the paperwork complete, a page of handwritten directions, and his jockstrap tucked safely away in his underwear drawer, he threw on a tank top and baseball cap, and headed out.

Upon entering and getting his paperwork signed off and confirmed, they explained the premise of the match. He, Jon, was to utterly dominate the match against a smaller guy that hadn't yet arrived. He was to do his best submission holds and keep them going for longer than usual. Punish him, mock him, be disrespectful and vulgar. Don't just win – humiliate him. He was then given a very small pair of shiny black wrestling trunks and directed to the locker room.

Jon smiled to himself as he stripped off his shirt, jeans, and boxers. He was instructed to wear nothing under the trunks, and if they were a little too small? Good. He slipped them on and over his crotch and ass, finding that they, indeed, were a bit too small. He felt the trunks digging into his ass cheeks, the bottom of them exposed. His crotch was barely contained, and extremely visible because of it.

He looked in the mirror, his shoulders looking even wider than usual due to the small and slimming nature of the trunks.

"They expect me to wrestle in these?" he asked himself.

Someone else answered.

"Believe me, they're way better than the tights," came a voice echoing from the door.

Jon looked towards the source and found a young, slim-built man around his age. Skin light brown, hair long, wavy and black, a stubble on his strong chin. His eyes were large, brown, and expressive, his nose long, his mouth curled into a confident smile. The youth dropped his duffel bag on the bench next to Jon's and started stripping off his Black Flag t-shirt.

His body was rather well-muscled, tight, but slender. He had enough muscle mass to pass as a wrestler, but he was far smaller than Moxley.

"Lemme guess," Jon began, pulling his boots out of his bag. "That's what you get to wear."

The stranger produced a ridiculous pair of bright blue tights and shrugged. "Everybody's gotta eat. Sometimes you gotta wear the tights to get paid." He put them down and offered a hand. "Tyler Black. What do they call you around here?"

"Moxley. Well, Jon. Either's fine with me." He shook his hand and then sat down to slip on his kneepads. He grinned. "You the twink I'm supposed to punish today?"

The other man gave a rather loud chuckle and unzipped his jeans. "Yeah, that's me. They like me for it 'cuz I got the long hair. Guess that makes you the hoss, right?" Tyler stripped off his jeans and underwear in one smooth motion.

Jon kept his eyes at the same level as Tyler's. Most of the time. "Yup. I suppose. Speaking of..." It seemed proper etiquette to ask before they got into the ring. "You work stiff?"

Tyler shrugged, pulling up the tights with a fair amount of effort over his small, perky ass. "When the mood strikes me, yeah. You want to?"

"Whenever I can." He started lacing up his boots and grinned at his opponent. "Promise I won't hurt your pretty little head, though, I know what I'm doing."

Tyler grinned back with equal confidence. "I'm not worried about my head. I can give as hard as I can take, you know."

Oooh. Jon was even more intrigued than he was before he'd arrived. Not just with the company, but with this man. A scoffing chuckle flew out of his throat. "You know we're not actually going to fuck, right?"

"I know that!" Tyler laughed back, somewhat defensively. "Geez, I figured we were just jokin' around."

"We are, don't worry," Moxley retorted, standing up. "See your pretty head in the ring." He walked out.

This Tyler Black wasn't just attractive, there was something about him that was very interesting. He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe they were alike in some intangible way. Or maybe Jon was just eager to get started pulling that pretty hair of his.


	3. Chapter 3

The ring itself was standard. Four corners, three ropes, white canvas. The decorations consisted of various national flags hung about the walls, nothing strange. Even the three camera men were expected. But what surrounded it was far less common. Rather than bleachers, chairs, or spectators, the ring was lined on two sides by walls, and by a white curtain on the other two, blocking it off from the rest of the gymnasium. Like a small, intimate room unto itself.

"This is fucking weird," Jon thought. "I mean, not just the porn thing. It's so damn quiet."

Standing in the ring usually meant a raucous crowd cheering, booing, shouting any number of profanities and insults. Sometimes all at once, all directed at him. The only noise in this ring was the director and producer having a quiet discussion, the camera men chatting with each other, and the silence between Jon Moxley and Tyler Black.

As stupid as those blue tights were, Tyler wore them well. They could only be described as hugging his toned thighs and buttocks. They hung low on his hips and squeezed against his crotch, forming a very illustrative outline of what was underneath. His hip bones and waist muscles came together to shape two obvious dents. When he turned around to speak with the referee, Moxley saw that there lay deep dimples on the small of his back. In addition, there was a tattoo along his spine of something written in Japanese lettering.

He made those tights look good.

It wasn't in Jon's nature to get flustered about anything, but the sheer number of interesting little features on his opponent's body definitely kept his undivided attention. It also wasn't in his nature to describe anything as "cute", but those lower back dimples were something else.

The producer and director finished their conversation, and the director addressed the two men in the ring.

"All right," she began. "We're gonna go about twelve minutes, give or take. Just work the way it comes naturally to you, but I don't wanna hear any move-calling, so telegraph clearly for the other guy. Tyler, you know what to do. Jon, Tyler's gonna sell everything about twofold, and you feel free to no-sell every now and then. Remember to address our audience watching at home, and don't forget to let 'em get a long look at the goods. Both of you ready?"

The two men nodded, and the director counted down from five, leaving the last number unsaid.

The red lights on the cameras went on.

Before anything else, Tyler turned around to his corner and grasped the ropes with both hands, spreading his legs wide, bending over, and stretching his back. His tights slipped a bit, revealing the very faintest bit of his backside.

"They're gonna love that at home," thought Jon with an irrepressible leer. Remembering he could be on the main camera at any time, he started rolling his big shoulders and shot a few practice jabs at the air in front of him.

The referee approached Jon first to check his kneepads and boots for foreign objects.

He obliged by lifting one leg at a time, allowing the ref to pat him down. "I got nothin', Ref," he said through his mischievous smile. "All me under there, promise."

The man in the striped shirt gave him the all-clear and then moved on to the opposite corner of the ring. Tyler turned around to get himself checked, and did a double-take when his eyes locked onto Moxley.

"What the hell, ref?!" he shouted, eyes wide and intense. "That guy's huge, how is that fair?"

The referee shook his head and raised his hands up. "Not my call. Come on, now, I gotta check your gear, Tyler."

Not taking his eyes off of his opponent, Tyler lifted one leg, and then the other, clinging to the ropes with both hands behind him, as if they could anchor him to safety.

"Definitely not the worst acting I've ever seen," Jon pondered. Aloud he shouted, "Watch out, ref, looks like he might piss himself!"

Tyler lunged in Jon's direction, only for the referee to stop him in his tracks.

"Tyler, come on! You'll get your chance," he assured him. When the slender wrestler backed off, though still glaring at Jon, the arbitrator asked him, "Tyler Black, you ready?"

"Yes," he retorted, sounding both defensive and exasperated at the very concept that he wouldn't have been ready.

"Ready, Jon Moxley?"

He chortled, "Yeah, I think so."

"All right." The referee returned to the middle of the ring. "Let's keep it clean, boys." He signaled for the bell to ring.

It only took a moment, a single look between the competitors. The chime was still resonating in Jon's ears by the time the two men were locked at the palms. It was there as soon as their skin came into contact – something quite indescribable, but it felt like a vibrating electricity. Like thousands of tiny particles were being shared between their bodies.

Ring chemistry. They both noticed it immediately.

Jon saw the faintest hint of a smile of recognition on Tyler's face. Jon returned it, and then transformed it into a victorious smirk as he easily overpowered the smaller man. With barely a push, he had Tyler on the mat with his arms spread wide and his shoulders down.

The ref counted to one, and Jon let Tyler kick out before he reached two.

Tyler squirmed out from under him and scrambled to his feet. Jon followed suit.

"You got lucky right there, okay?" Tyler insisted, pointing an accusatory finger.

"Lucky?" Jon began stomping towards him. "We'll see how lucky you are when I knock you the fuck out..."

Tyler jumped away, turning tail and fleeing towards the edge of the ring. He clung to the bottom rope with all of his limbs, hugging it close to his body for safety, and whining with apparent terror.

"No no no, come on, I'm sorry, man, please, no," he hyperventilated, his eyes shut tight in apparent fear.

Jon stopped and gestured toward him, turning to face the camera. "What the hell is this? I came here to fight and he's trying to punk out." He turned again, towards Tyler. "I ain't lettin' you off that easy, pretty boy."

With that, he lurched forward, big hand outstretched, and did as he promised himself to do. Mere milliseconds later, Jon was within reach. His fingers wrapped themselves around a sizable lock of Tyler's soft, dark hair, his knuckles resting against his scalp.

He pulled. Not enough to hurt him too much, but enough for Tyler to know what was happening. Tyler's face twisted into a pained grimace, and he downright shrieked, abandoning the ropes to clutch at Jon's wrist.

Blood and adrenaline were exploding through Jon's veins. He felt his brain flood with concentrated bliss, his knuckles heat up with tension, his loins stir. He'd be sporting a half-mast soon enough, he was sure, but he didn't mind. Not just because he'd signed up for it, but because he couldn't focus on anything but the man in front of him. Because he wanted nothing else but to keep his hands on Tyler for as long as possible.

Because he liked being seen.

Tyler was dragged to the middle of the ring kicking and shouting, half by his hair and half by his grip on the bigger man's wrist. Jon took a moment to relish in his panic before going to work. With a loud thud of flesh hitting canvas, he dropped to the mat and wrapped his legs around Tyler's middle, squeezing him at the sides of his stomach. All without letting go of his opponent's hair.

Scrambling, squirming, shouting, whimpering in between, Tyler Black was quite stuck.

Pulling his head back, Jon growled in his ear. "Yeah, try runnin' now. Got you right where I want you." Though it was loud enough for the cameras to pick up, it wasn't for them.

In the ensuing pause, Jon was sure Tyler could feel him hardening against his back.

He heard Tyler's breath hitch in his throat, and he stopped struggling for a moment. There was an atmosphere of understanding.

Rather than continue uselessly flailing his limbs, Tyler arched his back and began grinding it against his attacker, slowly, hard, and to the cameras it appeared he was trying to squirm out of Jon's grip.

Then, he had him.

That is, each man - unbeknownst to each other - had the same thought.

"Got 'im."


	4. Chapter 4

"Get off the hair, Moxley!" shouted the referee.

It only made him want to hold onto it longer. Jon pulled back on Tyler's hair, bringing his head to rest back on his shoulder as the official began the count. His soft hair wrapped around his fist, Tyler crying out in pain, Jon leaned in to whisper in his opposite's ear.

"I knew it," he exhaled, breathing onto Tyler's neck. The shouting and pounding of feet against the canvas masked his own voice. His cheeks growing hot, hardening evermore in his trunks, he went on, "That face of yours when I grabbed your hair. You're a total slut for this."

He let go, the ref having made it to the four-count. Tyler's shouts of agony reduced themselves to gasping groans, Jon's legs still clamped around his stomach. With a primal roar, Tyler pounded his fists and forearms against his captor's legs. Jon gave it a few moments, grunting with every blow, and finally released the smaller man from his grasp.

In an instant both men were already on their feet, Tyler doubled over and holding his stomach, gasping for breath. His face dark from lack of air, grimacing, drooling a little bit at the corner of his mouth.

No quarter here. Not when Jon was allowed to do just as he pleased.

"Aah," Tyler groaned, glaring at the other smirking combatant. "Think that's funny? S'against the rules! How good can you be if you can't fight faaiii—aaaahhh, AAAAHH." He began screaming as Jon had shot forward and snatched his wrist out of the air, twisting it to the side.

"Yeeeahh, that's right." Jon held Tyler's wrist in place with one hand, and used the other to lay slaps against the inside of his forearm, eliciting little red marks to bloom across his skin and a yelp with every one. "What now? What are you gonna do now?" He felt his voice growing louder, outside of his control. "Huh?! How's that feel, Tyler?"

Tyler dropped to his knees, his other hand clinging to his opposite shoulder. His thick eyebrows were furrowed towards the middle of his forehead, his teeth biting into his lower lip. His eyes were shut tight, but as Jon wrenched his arm even more to one side, they snapped open.

For a moment their eyes fastened to one another, as if by an invisible pair of chains. And Jon, for the first time, saw into Tyler.

Certainly there was pain in his eyes. They'd already agreed to work stiff – there would be some pain involved. There would be even if they were doing everything on the up and up. But aside from it, or next to it, or because of it... life. Energy. Pleasure, even. Tyler wore the face of someone being stroked hard and lovingly in his most intimate spots. His expression cried out in desire. He was moaning. And Jon could tell it wasn't just for the cameras.

It only confirmed his previous suspicions. There was no way this was going to end at the three-count.

He took this moment to tear himself away from Tyler's eyes for more quantifiable evidence. His own crotch was half-hardened as expected, the outline clearly visible in the shine of his small black trunks. In his heart of hearts he hoped to find Tyler in a similar state, and was pleased beyond belief when his wish was granted.

Pressing against his blue tights, straining the fabric, was Tyler's elongated and swollen cock.

Well, there it was.

His legs went weak. And apparently so did his arms, for Tyler managed to wrench himself away from Jon's grasp and roll away to the corner for a moment's reprieve.

Against his usual nature, Jon allowed it to him. It was far too much fun to watch him gasp for air in the corner and clutch his targeted arm against his body. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, so Jon returned to his own corner, casually laid his arms against the ropes, leaned back against the turnbuckle, and crossed his legs.

"All right, sweetheart," Jon derided from across the ring. "I'll wait here until you're ready to go again, okay?" He leaned back even further, allowing the bulge at his crotch to be even more visible to those watching.

Tyler was fuming in his own corner, breathing in heavy gulps. Without allowing himself any more time to rest, he stumbled to his feet, supporting himself with one arm on the ropes.

"Ooh, that bug you?" Jon grinned. "Come on, then, do your worst." His arms dropped to his sides and then gestured lewdly towards his crotch. "Let's go, son!"

Following an insulted growl, Tyler bounded across the ring and jumped high onto Jon. The bigger man caught the smaller one by the thighs. And before Jon could react he received several glancing, yet still painful punches against his forehead.

Tyler was holding back. He could tell.

He didn't want him to.

"Is that it!?" Jon roared, carrying Tyler to the middle of the ring and dropping him down on his back. Tyler groaned and arched his back, clearly having felt much of the brunt of that fall. Jon dropped himself on top of him, sitting directly on top of his crotch, laying a series of chops against his victim's toned, smooth chest. He could already see the reddened welts rising on Tyler's skin as he subtly pressed his backside against the hardness below it.

He went on, snarling, small amounts of spit flying off of his lips. "That's the hardest you can hit? Come on, pussy, lay into me!"

A sharp and sudden punch to his jaw exploded his vision into a pop of blinding stars. He spent a few moments regaining a hold of all of his senses, finding a panting and smiling Tyler below him. The metallic tang of blood spread against his tongue, and a short tactile survey found that the inside of his cheek had broken against his teeth.

The side of his mouth curled into bloody smile. He detected some measure of victory in Tyler's eyes, but didn't allow him long to enjoy it. Taking both of Tyler's shoulders, he yanked him into an upright position and slid in behind him, taking his opponent's neck into the inside of his elbow. The choke hold kept Tyler firmly in place for the time being, despite his struggling and squirming and shouting.

Tyler's breaths grew shorter and faster as his limbs flailed uselessly against his attacker.

"Come on, come on!" Jon shouted into Tyler's hair. It smelled like lavender and mint. It was sort of a girly scent, but Jon wasn't one to complain about somebody actually smelling good. "Get out if you can, Tyler Black!"

His head placement wasn't the best idea. Tyler drew his head downward and then smashed it backwards. Jon only just realized what was about to happen and did his best to react accordingly. As a result, the back of Tyler's head bonked against Jon's nose.

In addition to the eye-watering pain, he felt something begin to drip down from his nostrils. Several crimson drops landed on his shoulder.

Jon's smile grew wider. Lovely.

He released Tyler from the choke hold and gave a quick glance to the director. He hadn't heard their policy on blood, and was somewhat concerned that he wouldn't be asked back because of this. To his surprise and elation, the director was beaming from ear to ear and nodding with approval.

With that blessing, Jon used one hand to hold Tyler's head forward, bending his spine towards him.

"You wanna bleed? Wanna bleed for me, too?" The words were flying out before he could think them. Immediately following, he raked his other hand against Tyler's back. White scratches followed each of his fingernails before blossoming into raised red welts.

Tyler whimpered, half in pain and half in utter joy.

The noise echoed in Jon's ears. His heart skipped a beat. His cock twitched. His tongue ran itself against his lips out of his control.

Again, in the moment he was relishing in the very presence of his opposition, Tyler sprang to his feet. Jon was soon to follow, but Tyler had grabbed him by the wrist first. With strength uncharacteristic of someone his size, Tyler whipped Jon towards the ropes. Jon's back bounced against them, and he ran forward intending to deliver a clothesline. But Tyler had him scouted. Within seconds Tyler was on Jon's back, his arms locked firmly over his throat, beginning to cut off his airway.

This time it was Tyler's turn to whisper to Jon, who was grunting and growling as he clung to Tyler's arm in an attempt to loosen the pressure.

"You're a real bastard, Moxley," he mumbled, his words hot against Jon's ear. "Can't remember the last time somebody got me this hard in the ring. You fuckin' dick." There was a mix of frustration, anticipation, and humor in his voice. At least Jon knew Tyler was enjoying it just as much as he was.

Aloud and for the cameras, Tyler laughed, "What are you gonna do now, Moxley? Even big guys gotta breathe!"

He'd been in this position many times, and he always knew how to get out of it.

His mouth opened wide, and he sunk his teeth into Tyler's forearm.

The pressure on his throat released immediately with a shriek ringing in his ear. Coughing and gasping, Jon turned tail and bounced once more against the ropes, coming back to lay Tyler flat on the canvas with a merciless cross-body splash. Instinctively, Jon Moxley scooped Tyler's thigh into his arm and held it aloft, pinning the other wrestler's shoulders to the mat.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Your winner, Jon Moxley!" the referee announced.

Still gasping for air, Jon released Tyler's leg and lay flat against the other man's stomach for a second or two.

Long enough to hear Tyler mutter with an aching he knew too well, "Meet me in the locker room. You can bite me again there."

His heart jumped. In response the rest of him jumped to his feet and raised his arms in the air.

Victory. In more than one way.


	5. Chapter 5

"Cut!" the director commanded, giving the competitors an applause and a smile. "Well done, boys! Jon, you're a natural. You did damn good for your first try. Wanna do another one next week?"

Jon nodded, a sleepy grin on his face. He leaned forward against the ropes, his knees wobbling. The unsteadiness on his feet could easily be passed off as exhaustion from the fight, but the truth is he was drunk on adrenaline, arousal, and the man slowly making his way to his feet behind him. Blood was still dripping slowly from his nostril, leaving tiny scarlet puddles on Jon's forearms. He reached up to stem the flow, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Need a medic?" the director asked.

Jon laughed, grimacing through his smile, "Nah, I'm fine. Had way worse. Just gotta clean up."

She shrugged and nodded, gesturing towards the locker room. "All right, you can hit the showers now if you like, we'll take down in here. Check'll be in the mail tomorrow."

Jon slid in between the ropes and hopped off of the ring apron. He didn't want to appear to be in a hurry, but he had a rather important meeting to attend. He was sure to hold his nose and bend over, as if he was trying to make it to the locker room before he bled all over the floor. Bursting through a few pairs of double doors, Jon ripped open his gym bag and pulled out a sport towel. He then deposited himself on the bench, holding the towel to his nose.

Goosebumps rose on his arms and thighs, not just from the difference in temperature from the ring to the locker room, but from nervous anticipation. He was no stranger to one-night stands, or even hopping right from the ring to the bedroom. But he'd never taken the other guy with him on that journey. At least, he hadn't initiated it ever before. He felt more ready than he ever had, yet his confidence was making him shiver.

Rash decision making was always in his repertoire. Yet, there was no way for him to know if it would be as easy as it was in the ring with Tyler. Notwithstanding he had no idea what to expect from Tyler, and likewise Tyler wouldn't know what to expect from him. What made him especially anxious was that he knew Tyler couldn't possibly be as assured about this as he was. He couldn't be feeling it as strongly.

He didn't want to put a label on it. Couldn't. But his emotions were there, and they were strong. Jon never did anything halfway.

It seemed like an eternity sitting alone with his racing thoughts before he heard the doors swing open and shut.

"I remember you saying we weren't actually going to fuck," Tyler snickered as he strode into the locker room. Beads of sweat still glistened on his forehead, and his chest and arms were covered in pinkish imprints.

"Well it's not usually on the card," Jon responded through the towel. He found it hard to deny anything when Tyler looked so handsomely trounced.

Tyler planted himself just inches from Jon, straddling the bench and leaning forward to examine Jon's face. "Got you good there, didn't I?"

"Not bad," he conceded as he lowered the towel. Only a few small stains. With a sniffle, Jon tossed the towel back into his bag and rested his arms on his thighs. His pulse was thumping in his chest and neck. Something was keeping him from looking up at the man next to him. Their interest in each other was quite clear and established, but he didn't want to make the first move.

The thought crossed his mind: "He's gotta want it. He has to tell me he does."

"Can I ask you something?"

Jon ripped his eyes away from what was obviously a very interesting floor and found Tyler with an odd look on his face. "Shoot," he replied.

"How much of that out there was you?"

Silence fell between the two men. Jon knew exactly what Tyler was asking. He just wasn't sure how to answer. There are plenty who would run far and fast if they heard the truth, but nothing would make him feel worse than getting anyone into anything without full disclosure. He'd just met Tyler, but that was all the more reason to make sure he knew enough to stay away if he had to.

A sigh fell out of his lungs. Looking Tyler straight in the eye he admitted, "Mostly all of it. I mean, I'm louder and more obvious about it, but it's all from in here." His eyes dropped to Tyler's chest, then his stomach, then... the bench. With a shake of his head he chuckled, "I ain't a normal dude. Not by a half sight." He prepared himself for Tyler to stand up and leave.

The other man didn't move for several seconds. Then, rather than standing up and walking off, he reached forward and took Jon's wrist in his hand.

Tyler said simply, "Okay." He then lifted Jon's wrist and pulled it towards him. He laid Jon's hand on the inside of his thigh, looking up at him and raising one eyebrow.

Certainly Jon was pleased, but also confused and surprised. For the moment he ignored the blood rushing back into his groin, which had grown soft in the interim (though he didn't bother to move his hand away).

"All right," Jon began with some suspicion. "I gotta know what would've disqualified me there."

Tyler slid himself even farther towards Jon, putting his own hand on the bigger man's thigh. It tingled where Tyler's fingers met his flesh. "If you hadn't been honest with me, I would have walked out. I just needed to know if that's who you are, that's it." He squeezed Jon's thigh and exhaled heavily, looking up with a lustful, pleading expression on his face. The same one he had on when Jon was pulling on his hair earlier in the ring.

"As long as you're sure." Jon warned.

"I am."

"You wanna get into this with... me."

"Yeah."

The smile returned to Jon's lips. He took both of Tyler's shoulders and gently pushed him down onto the bench. Tyler offered no resistance, and in fact leaned back faster than Jon could press him.

"Fine," he sighed, leaving Tyler lying down and waiting anxiously as he, too, straddled the bench, their crotches rather close together. "Then let's hear you beg me for it."

Tyler raised his head, gazing at Jon through narrowed eyes. "Beg for it? I had you drooling out there, you were the one who got a half-chub about two seconds into it." This defiant attitude certainly suited him. He'd seen a bit of him the ring as well, it seemed.

"Yeah," Jon grunted, laying a few fingers on Tyler's inner thigh and stroking lightly. "Beg me."

Tyler shook his head with exasperation. "Not gonna fuckin'... nngh."

Jon's fingers had worked their way upward, brushing against Tyler's balls through his tights. He could feel him shivering underneath his hand, and watched as his cock pulsed and grew even harder.

"What's that? I didn't understand you."

Tyler's eyes were closed, squeezing tighter every time Jon touched him. His mouth hung open, panting, but not begging yet. It was lovely, it sent small waves of pleasure through Jon's body. But it wasn't begging.

Jon took just his index finger and laid it tantalizingly at the very tip of Tyler's cock. He heard Tyler gasp. He drew it downward, tracing along the shaft. Tyler whimpered, his hips pressing upward in a futile attempt to get more out of Jon's hand. But he couldn't be swayed.

"Nope." He pulled his finger away and leaned over to caress Tyler's soft lips. "I wanna hear it from here. Beg me."

"Goddamn!" Tyler exclaimed, probably more loudly than he meant to. After a few deep breaths he muttered, "Please. Come on, man."

Jon cupped Tyler's chin in his hand, his big fingers gently framing his face. "If you're gonna get into this with me," he advised, "you should know I'm a real stubborn guy. Probably way more stubborn than you." Ever so slightly, just enough to feel the stubble poke into his flesh, he squeezed his fingertips into Tyler's cheeks.

By this point Tyler was half-glaring at Jon, the other half of his expression being a scrambling desperation to be satisfied. After chewing on his lower lip for a few seconds while staring off into the middle distance, Tyler took a deep breath and allowed his eyes to meet Jon's.

"Will you please just fucking touch me already?"

Jon ran his fingers down Tyler's neck, in between his pecs, bumping against his abs, following the subtle line of hair that led to his crotch. His hand stopped just short of the tights. He drew small circles in the dents of his hips.

"Tyler," he admonished while pulling lightly at the top of his tights, "you're gonna have to be more polite than that."

That did it.

Tyler sat straight up, looking as if he were ready to strangle Jon. But rather than go on the attack, he let out a frustrated growl and spat, "Please, for fuck's sake, I want you to touch me. Okay, no, I need it. I need you to touch me. I'll do anything you want, please just-"

Their lips collided, cutting him off. Jon had grabbed Tyler's head with both of his hands and pulled the other man into a hard kiss. For that instant, Tyler was too stunned to reciprocate as Jon hungrily crashed their mouths together.

Jon gave him no time to react. In accordance with his wonderful display of begging, he grasped Tyler's manhood through his tights, releasing a moan that echoed in his own mouth. It was difficult to grin while locked in an intense kiss, but Jon found a way.

His dominant hand immediately went to work on Tyler, rubbing against him hard and fast, nothing between them but a pair of thin tights and a layer of sweat. Jon slid his other arm behind Tyler's back and pulled him into his lap, all the while sliding his active tongue along the other man's lips and fondling his crotch.

The flurry of moans that echoed throughout the locker room, along with Tyler's soft backside against his own cock, was working Jon into a frenzied dance of pleasure and pleasuring. He thrust himself against the man in his lap, squeezing and pressing his cock with one hand and holding him up by the small of his back with the other, nibbling Tyler's lower lip, all the while grunting with every bit of tension that was building up in his lower region.

This was too much for the smaller fighter. He was whining into Jon's mouth for every second of it, whimpering with the aching desire that Jon was both fulfilling and creating at the same time. His arms were wrapped around Jon's neck for support, trembling, barely hanging on.

Breathlessly, Tyler sighed, "More... I can't... I'm gonna... please-"

Without any further pressing, Jon finally released Tyler from his near-endless kiss. The other one seemed disappointed for a moment. It wouldn't last very long.

Jon leaned down and brushed his lips against Tyler's neck as he increased the speed and intensity with which he rubbed his partner's covered member. Just as he began to hear Tyler's breath begin to hitch in his throat – somehow he knew that would be the indicator – he bit down into his neck. He took his skin between his teeth and pulled, just ever so lightly, to cause pain but no damage.

"F-Fuck!" Tyler gasped.

As much as he would have loved to keep Tyler between his teeth for that much longer, Jon definitely didn't want to miss this. He let go and watched as his hand squeezed and pumped against the hardness pressing against the tights.

Then, it was over.

With an irrepressible yelp and a spasm, Tyler reached his climax, his cock pumping his orgasm into his tights. It easily soaked through the fabric, flowing out down his length and onto Jon's hand.

The moment he felt the warm seed against his hand, he looked into Tyler's exhausted, elated, lust-crazed eyes, Jon lost all control of himself. The tension reached its climax and released itself in the same moment, pulsing against the back of Tyler's inner thigh, forcing a satisfied growl out of Jon Moxley. His own trunks weren't thin enough to let any of it out – Jon's own pleasure spurted out and ran down the shaft of his cock, dampening it and everything around it.

Again, outside of his control, Jon collapsed against Tyler and began placing hard kisses against his neck and shoulders, panting for air, his head swimming, his hand lying still around Tyler's softening manhood. He felt Tyler tighten his grip around Jon's shoulders and weakly grasp the back of his head, running his fingers through the larger man's hair. They were silent but for the sound of their breathing.

"I..." Jon began, nuzzling the corner at the base of Tyler's neck. "I remember you said something earlier."

"Mm?" Tyler groaned, breathing into Jon's hair.

"I remember you said you'd do anything if I touched you."

They came apart, Tyler smiling with his head cocked to the side.

"Anything, huh?" Jon stuck his tongue out and ran it along his hand, licking it clean.


	6. Chapter 6

"Anything" turned out to be quite a lot simpler than Tyler had probably been guessing.

Jon took some time to decide what he wanted – as long as it took the both of them to shower and get redressed. There was a lot of mutual admiration for each others' body, playful slaps on the bottom, and a good amount of off-color banter. From the ease with which they'd interacted, Jon imagined there was a wide variety of acts he could get Tyler to try out.

But the more time they dawdled getting dry and putting on their clothes, the more he could think only about one possibility.

The two men wouldn't be seeing much of each other for another week. They both had their more conventional wrestling matches to attend, errands to run, concerns to settle. Jon speculated that there wouldn't have been the necessary time or energy to meet, for any reason. He had to make sure they could have some contact before the next match. And afterward, and for however long this thing would go on.

As they finally had their shirts on and their duffel bags packed, Jon finally came out with it.

"Gimme your phone number."

Tyler's face went blank for a moment before he broke into a snicker. "That's all? I expected something raunchier from you."

Jon shrugged, pulling out his dented, years outdated flip phone. "You may not believe it, but I'm really just an old-fashioned kinda guy at heart."

As funny as he seemed to find it, Tyler complied and recited the nine digits. With the number now saved in his phone, Jon gave Tyler a short touch on his cheek as he headed out from the locker room.

As he neared the doors he threw back over his shoulder, "The phone number isn't all I want, though. You should expect a call in a few days."

Jon Moxley had very few regrets in life. For the most part he could chalk up any past mistakes to age, inexperience, or poor timing. But he had a very specific and very painful regret that gnawed at the back of his throat in the seventy-odd hours between obtaining Tyler's phone number and the evening he intended to make good on it.

"A few days."

He'd wanted to call him since the morning after they'd met.

"Shoulda said 'tomorrow'," Jon thought to himself, sitting alone in his apartment. Among empty beer bottles, clothes strewn randomly about the carpet, and a couch covered in mysterious food stains, he lay on the floor shirtless with the carpet fibers digging into his back, his hands clasped behind his head. He'd been staring at the creaking ceiling fan for an amount of time he hadn't cared to remember.

Usually he would enjoy his days off with a walk outside or rewatching one of his countless VHS tapes of old pay-per-views.

He couldn't muster much more than leaving the TV on in the background and lazing about his apartment. The morning started by sitting down on the couch and flipping around for something to watch. This soon turned into lying down on the couch and leaving on some cooking show that he could barely pay attention to. Eventually he intended to get up and use the bathroom, but he ended up getting only halfway to his feet. Instead he slid off of the couch and ended up on his back on the floor, where he remained at that moment.

"Hell, I shoulda given him my number. Then he could call, at least."

The last thing he wanted was to seem obsessive or desperate. It doesn't mean he wasn't obsessive or desperate. Both of those very familiar emotions were creeping up on him swiftly. But he couldn't let Tyler see that. He was lucky enough that Tyler even let him engage in such intimate behavior.

It wouldn't do to scare him off like this so soon. Not when his feelings were this strong already.

And it certainly wouldn't help him to lie around and think about his soft, frizzy hair or his beautiful skin tone or the subtle line of hair on his lower stomach.

"Graaaahhh!" Jon snarled aloud, heaving himself to his feet. He wasn't one to just languish in his thoughts and let fate take him wherever it may. He never had been, and he wasn't about to start now.

He would take care of himself, goddammit. He would eat, sleep, and piss like a normal person, even though his thoughts were consumed with some guy he just met. Things would happen when he made them happen.

And he was determined to make them happen exactly at the time he promised.

The third day came and went, and thus melted into the evening. Jon had managed to keep his mind on other matters for the most part until then. That morning he decided to place the call just after 10:00 in the evening.

At 9:46 pm, having glanced at his phone's clock around fifty times in the past several minutes, he flipped through the contact list until he made it down to Tyler's name. Before he'd even realized what he was doing, the phone was resting against his ear and the dial tone was sounding off.

Jon sat down on the couch and waited.

It rang four times, sending four skips through Jon's heartbeat, before Tyler picked up.

"Hello?" came the distinctive voice through the speaker. He sounded only somewhat puzzled.

"Hey," Jon replied. A second passed, in which he realized he should probably give a little bit more information than that. "Uh, it's Jon."

"Oh! Hey," Tyler chuckled. Jon heard a rustling sound over the phone, and then Tyler continued, "How's it goin'?"

"All right. You?"

"Yeah, same."

There was a stretch of silence that lasted far too long for Jon's comfort. He hadn't thought this through well enough. He certainly planned out how it would end, but not really how he would get there.

As usual, he made a quick decision and took the obvious route.

"You at home?"

There was another pause on the other line, enough to make him nervous. Then Tyler responded with more than a little bit of interest. "Yeah, I am."

"You alone?"

He answered far more quickly this time. "Yeah, I'm alone."

Jon leaned back in his seat, switching his phone to the other hand, and undid the button and zipper of his jeans. "Then, I've decided what I want from you."

He could almost hear Tyler smiling over the phone. "And that is?"

"Just do what I ask you to do. That's it."

A bit of a nervous chuckle came through the speaker. "I don't know about that, man, I don't wanna send any pictures or anything..."

"Nah, man, don't worry. I don't even know if I can look at pictures on this phone." Jon slipped his hand into his boxers and began fondling himself. "Can you talk to me about what you're doing, though?"

"Y-Yeah. I can."

Jon listened to some quiet, muffled rustling before speaking low and deep, "Got a shirt on?"

"Yeah. Want me to take it off?"

A smile worked its way to his face. Far too eager. Tyler really was kind of a slut, and he was all for it. "Ever try playing with your nipples?"

"Not yet."

Jon was actually shocked. A twink like him never played with his own nipples? Clearly this travesty had to be corrected. "Reach up under your shirt, start rubbing. I think you'll like it."

A few seconds passed with more muffled noises, and then a few breaths bounced against the speaker and into Jon's ear.

"Nngh," Tyler grunted.

"Good?" Jon licked his lips, imagining the scene playing out on the other side of the line. His back was probably arching, his eyebrows doing that worried little furrow when Tyler was being pleasured. That particular facial expression had stamped itself firmly into Jon's mind.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Can't believe I never tried this before..."

Jon had a feeling that, despite his eagerness to have a near-complete stranger give him pain and pleasure all at once, there were a lot of things out there that Tyler had never tried.

Good. He would show him.

"What've you got on right now?" Jon asked, his cock on its way to fully hardening.

"Mmf. T-shirt, sweatpants." Tyler exhaled and chuckled with the same breath. "Not all that sexy, sorry."

On the contrary. Was there anything more beautiful than being able to see someone's cock through sweatpants? Jon admitted to himself he might have odd tastes, but he could argue in favor of sweatpants dick for hours.

Even though the image had brought his manhood to full attention, they were only getting in the way at this point. With his fingers wrapped firmly around himself, Jon groaned, "Don't apologize. Just take 'em off for me."

He could hear Tyler complying with enthusiasm. Without even giving him a moment to verbally confirm that his pants were off, Jon posed another question. "You hard yet?"

"... Actually, I got hard when I heard your voice."

Arousal shot through Jon's entire body like an immediate high. His thumb ran over the tip of his penis and found it beading with precum. He spread it all over the swollen head, slicking it all over and causing a pleasant tingle at his opening. He then immediately wrapped his fist around the shaft and began pumping quickly.

Being careful not to breathe too loudly, Jon moaned, "Then I don't know what you've been waiting for."

For several minutes, the airspace between them was filled with feverish panting and the occasional moan. Tyler was very prone to whimpering and whining, while Jon just couldn't stop himself from talking in between grunts of delight.

"Back in the locker room, Tyler? That was just a little taste of what I'm gonna do to you. Next week, you're mine. Nngh, aah... You'll be begging to suck me off from the minute we're alone. I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you're gonna ride me until you can't even walk. You're not just gonna moan, you're gonna scream my name."

Tyler's moans were getting louder. Jon could hear his breath beginning to catch at the back of his throat. He was getting close, too. But he still hadn't asked for everything he wanted from him yet.

"I know you're close, Tyler... I want you to do just one more thing, okay?"

"Mmgh..." Tyler moaned in understanding.

"Say my name when you cum."

"Oh, god..." Tyler breathed. His voice was becoming urgent, on the very cusp of crying out for release. Then for a moment there was silence but for the muted rubbing in the background. And then, out of the quiet came a desperate exclamation.

"Oh fuck... Jon, I'm... oh god, Jon!"

Jon heard his name repeated over and over, punctuated each time with a strangled gasp. Hearing this, he couldn't hold back any longer. With his tongue hanging out, his eyes clamped shut, his fist squeezing around his quivering manhood, his orgasm shot out in four strong jets, raining down on his bare stomach and chest, reaching nearly to his collarbone.

His cock was still throbbing when it was beginning to soften in Jon's hand. He let go of it and let his hand weakly lay across his stomach, gently rubbing his fluids across his skin.

Tyler was still panting on the other line, and Jon felt compelled to sync his breathing pattern with him.

"God damn," Tyler laughed after a minute or so. "You really know how to talk."

Jon laughed as well. "It's not all I know how to do. We still got next week." By that time, it was only four days away. It wouldn't be too difficult to wait, especially now that Tyler had Jon's number. With a sigh, he continued, "I'll have you try something new again. So bring your adventurous side, Tyler."


	7. Chapter 7

Text messages.

Tyler kept sending... text messages.

"The fuck is the point of that kinda shit?" Jon glared at his flip phone, at the nine little number buttons that also held seldom-used groups of letters. He'd come out of the gym to find an envelope icon flashing on the tiny, cracked screen. It was the third time. Nothing weird. Just greetings, mentioning he watched a few of Jon's matches on the internet.

Jon sat on the bench, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It normally took him about five times as long to create a text message than to just place a call and talk about what they needed to say. He never saw the point of getting one of those phones with the keyboards. That's what computers were for. Not that he had one of those, either.

But Tyler wouldn't know that.

Jon shook his head at himself. Motherfucker's trying to be nice, and here he is complaining about it.

Considering what to write as a response, Jon stripped out of his sweatpants and sweat-soaked t-shirt and entered one of the shower stalls. As the hot water rained down on him, a quiver came over his entire being. In thinking about how to reply to Tyler, his face came to mind – his strong nose, his wide, shining brown eyes, his gap-toothed smile. His tongue.

He could definitely stand to have Tyler with him at that moment.

Dammit.

As attractive as he was, as fun as it was to have him shaking and twitching next to him in pleasure, there was more to him than that.

And Jon knew that, but he didn't know what it was quite yet.

And he wanted to.

Once he was clean and dried off, Jon returned to his phone, realizing that he hadn't even read the new message yet. The phone flipped open, thus so did the message.

"Got the day off. Pretty bored."

His heart jumped in his chest.

"Now's the fucking time, Jon," he told himself, yet still taking time to pull on his clothes before responding. "You can actually learn shit about this asshole and be a normal human being about it for once."

The phone was staring back at him, the "reply" button mocking him silently.

"Maybe I shouldn't refer to him as an 'asshole'," he realized.

He hit the button and then spent upwards of five minutes trying to get his message just right. Finally he felt he had an acceptable answer, and hit "send".

"want 2 get lunch"

The second he hit the reply button he regretted it. "'Want to get lunch', how fucking stupid is that?! I didn't even put in the question mark. He's gonna think I'm a moron. He probably went to college and graduated high school and shit..."

He was glaring daggers into his phone with such intensity and focus that he didn't even notice that someone had joined him in the locker room.

"What'cha got is called a 'cellular telephone' there Jon," echoed Sami's voice from a few feet away. He snickered as Jon jumped in surprise and sighed once he found out who it was. "With just the press of a button you can hear folk talk from miles around! Ain't that some wizard shit, right there?"

Jon pocketed his phone indignantly, but turned a grin on for his friend. "Golly gee willickers, Samuel, what will they dream up next? A horse-drawn carriage without no horses?"

"So, who're you talking to over there?" Sami approached, unlocking one of the lockers and taking out his bag.

"Jus' somebody I met at that porn gig," he muttered as he packed up his own belongings.

"Is he pretty?"

"Oh yeah." Jon blushed a little bit. Not because he was admitting his attraction to someone, but he couldn't help but remember exactly what made Tyler so pretty.

"Prettier'n Jacobs?"

He laughed, "Gives him a run for his money, for sure."

Sami gave it a moment's thought. "Hey, there isn't an intergender division at Cyberfights, is there?"

"Nope."

"Ah, fuck it, then. Have fun sucking dick."

Jon laughed again, heading out of the locker room with his bag in tow. He felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket and opened it to find another message from Tyler.

"Where? :)"

"He sent me a smiley face," he pondered while unlocking his clunker of a pickup truck. "What a nerd."

"I have to admit, I didn't really know what to expect when you told me we'd be having lunch in the back of your truck."

Tyler and Jon lounged side-by-side in the bed of the latter's pickup, having quickly grabbed a few sandwiches and a six-pack of beer at a deli. The truck itself sat in the empty parking lot behind a bar, one at which Jon had spent far too much time and money. Save for their conversation, the distant hum of the highway, and the muttering of the radio, it was quiet. Peaceful. The inaudible buzz of chemistry rang loud in their ears, however.

Finishing off his second beer, Jon deposited the empty bottle in a paper bag. "I mean, restaurants are all right. But I really prefer eating outside, I like the noise better." He leaned back on his elbows, reclining his head against the long aluminum toolbox he kept in the bed of his truck. "Why, what'd you think I meant?"

Tyler laughed out a breath through his nose and tossed his sandwich wrapper to the side. "Somehow I thought it'd be some kinda innuendo."

A grin of ill intent wandered onto Jon's lips. "I mean, I did plan on having your ass for lunch in the back of my truck, but I figured I'd at least buy you food beforehand."

Following a half-hearted slap to the shoulder, a two-man chorus of chuckles resonated throughout the parking lot.

"How'd you even end up at Cyberfights, anyway? Seems like you're a pretty big deal where you are right now."

Jon waved his hand in disagreement. "I'm in a pretty damn good place, but it doesn't mean I won't take any opportunity I get. Anyway, I found a piece of paper in the locker room. I think this guy I work with – Jimmy Jacobs – he must've dropped it."

Tyler's eyes grew even larger than normal. "Hey, you know Jacobs, too?"

"I know he's uncircumcised."

They burst out cackling together, the mirth failing to die down for nearly a minute.

With a sigh, Tyler laid a hand on Jon's head and guided it to his lap. Jon gently rested the back of his head against the other man's thigh and let his eyes relax closed as Tyler stroked his hair. Their respective body heat roiled against each other, their breaths rising out like weightless steam from a hot bath.

In spite of his laid-back demeanor, for the most part, interacting with people he'd just met gave Jon prickles of restlessness. But Tyler was having the opposite effect on his psyche. He felt calmed, assured of himself, and temporarily at ease even with the worries camped out in the back of his mind at all times.

"So," Tyler exhaled, running his fingers over Jon's forehead. "I checked out some of your promos online."

Oh.

"Well that was nice while it lasted," thought Jon, heaving himself to an upright position. "Yeah?" he said aloud. "What'd you think?"

"They're pretty intense." An air of concern inserted itself between the two men. Whether it was concern for Jon, or himself, it wasn't clear at the moment.

"I uh... yeah. I really get into it when I have the camera on me, I guess." Jon tried to smile, tried to make the situation seem more casual than it actually was.

"I know I asked you something like this before, but... how much of that was you?" He shook his head rapidly. "I mean, I'm not trying to knock you on your acting or anything, you cut a damn good promo. But something about 'em makes me feel like you're speaking more from experience than anything else."

Jon sucked on his teeth and stared at his hands, clenched in his lap. "To an extent, yeah. It's... I mean... It isn't anything to be sad about. Just had a crappy childhood. Makes it easy to get into character, I guess." He shrugged, trying to only let the right words spill out. "I'm cool now. Mostly cool. I do all right."

"You don't have to talk about it," Tyler mumbled to the side that Jon wasn't sitting on. "I mean, I get it, we kinda just met. If you're not comfortable-"

"Nah, nah," Jon put his hand on Tyler's thigh, "don't even worry, it's just not... something that matters all that much now." His gaze dropped to the hand that was touching Tyler. Tyler seemed to notice, as well, his eyes gliding over to that hand, and then rising to meet Jon's.

A smirk seemed to creep onto Tyler's face outside of his control. "Still hungry?"

Jon's face followed suit. "You grow up poor, you're always hungry."

Nothing left to say and only one thing left to do, Jon put his fingers to work opening Tyler's jeans. The brunet released a breath and licked his lips in anticipation while Jon found him already half-hard behind his boxers. Jon pulled the waistband down, sliding his hand under Tyler's crotch and held the base of him softly.

Without even a pause, Jon took the whole of Tyler into his mouth, fondling his softened cock with the flat of his tongue. Tyler's huffing whines in his ears, Jon felt his own manhood stiffening at the same rate as the one in his mouth. Soon, he found that the whole of Tyler's length couldn't quite fit comfortably where it was. Lips wrapped tight around his shaft, tongue pressing against the sensitive muscle in the front, Jon began lifting his head to face Tyler.

Eyelids heavy with lust, Jon let his tongue hang out and rest against the head of Tyler's arousal. He found Tyler's face visibly burning, only one eye open, the other closed. His eyebrows wrinkled towards each other with that worried little crease that had burned itself into Jon's memory.

Beautiful.

But he couldn't look up and keep his momentum at the same time. Jon turned his full attention back to Tyler's crotch. Giving his balls a soft squeeze every now and then, he took half of Tyler into his mouth and began a rhythmic pattern of sucking and lapping. He could hear the whimpering growing louder as the salty tang of precum found its way into his throat.

"Mmgh."

"Nnnnh!"

Jon moaned around Tyler, rolling the head of his cock against the roof of his mouth, and Tyler responded in kind by moaning back and pushing his hips up towards him. His breath was coming out faster with each moment, with each stroke of his balls, with each time Jon ran his tongue against the slit.

The taste of him filling his mouth, Tyler's sweat slicking his hand, Jon slid his fingers even further underneath. In an unexpected second, Jon's middle finger was prodding at Tyler's opening, pressing, rubbing, begging to get in.

A gasp, a familiar hitch of the breath, a pleading whimper echoed against Jon's eardrums. Nothing could have encouraged him more. He took in a deep breath, sucking in as much of the cock as he could possibly fit into his mouth, and his finger made its entrance into Tyler.

Following a series of spasms and a delicious, stuttering whine, Jon drank down Tyler's orgasm with an aching delight.

A small string of saliva clung to Jon's lips as he released Tyler from his mouth and removed his hand from his boxers. After putting Tyler away and zipping him up, Jon rested his head against Tyler's thigh once more.

Suddenly he found himself snickering at the sudden memory of something said earlier that day. Tyler inquired with little more than an exhausted moan.

"Nothin', man. I just... I had fun sucking your dick, that's all."

Tyler shared in the laughter and returned to stroking Jon's curly, ginger hair.

Their next meeting was just a day away, back in the ring. With every day they interacted, Jon would have to let Tyler in a little bit more if he hoped to keep him for any length of time. He knew this, he anticipated it, he made himself prepare for it.

Until then, he enjoyed the lovely silence between them.


	8. Chapter 8

"No foolin'?"

"Nah."

"No fucking way."

"I'm serious, man!"

Jon burst out laughing, his head cradled in Tyler's lap. The sun was in its usual process of setting, the air finally beginning to cool as the shadow of the building crept over the pickup truck. The pair had moved inside, Tyler sitting up in the passenger's seat and Jon on his back with his feet hanging out the driver's side window.

As they'd been stretched out in the bed of the truck, Jon realized how much he'd been talking about himself, and how little he knew of Tyler. He was aware of how difficult it was for him to shut up sometimes, even though he had a plethora of secrets to keep, so he suggested that they move to the inside of the truck to keep from getting sunburned. There, he settled himself back in Tyler's lap and asked a few questions.

And there they'd been sitting for quite a while, Tyler explaining how many punk shows he'd attend during a good month, his abandoned college degree, his dog that lived with his parents. How he'd been moving around somewhat aimlessly through the Midwest and staying with friends while he sought out various wrestling contracts.

His first wrestling persona.

"I can't believe you named yourself 'God'," Jon guffawed, holding his stomach. "You sure don't lack the self-confidence thing, do ya?"

Tyler shook his head with a small measure of embarrassment, his gap-toothed smile glowing above Jon. "Ah, well, when you're sixteen and you think it's really cool to jump off of your parents' roof, your head kinda just blows up." He shrugged. "It hasn't really shrunk all that much since then, I'll admit."

Jon patted Tyler on his knee. "Well damn, I don't really blame ya. You are really good. I mean, how did you end up doing Cyberfights? You should have more contract offers than you have fuckin' pairs of pants."

"You know, time and place, all that..." Tyler gazed out the windshield. "And even working for a few different guys, it's still only a few shows a month. You know how it is." He looked out the side window, and Jon felt his thighs tense up. "When opportunity strikes I'll be grabbing it. 'Til then, I still gotta eat."

"And get your sweet ass to those punk shows, right?"

The man above him went back to smiling and looked down to brush a curl of Jon's hair out of his face. "And get my sweet ass to those punk shows."

As night fell, Jon drove Tyler back to where he was staying – a small, one-story house in a suburb not far from the building where they'd met. A couple of beat-up sedans were parked in the cracked driveway, and the lawn was dry yet not overgrown or choked with weeds. To Jon, it seemed a pretty sweet set-up.

"Looks like your roommate's back." Jon asked, gesturing to the pair of cars. He'd actually hoped to come in for a bit of a nightcap, but he understood most people preferred not to listen to their roommates fuck.

"Guess so," agreed Tyler. "Actually, you're about to meet 'im tomorrow. Marek's our third for the next shoot."

That's right. It was a handicap match.

Jon smirked. "Then I'll see your twinky self tomorrow, won't I?"

Tyler gave him a nudge to his shoulder, but leaned in and nibbled his ear before hopping out of the truck and walking to his front door. Jon watched him go in and a light go on in the front window before driving off back home once more. He wanted to make sure he got plenty of sleep before the next morning.

Jon, today given a more traditional pair of red tights that reached halfway down his thighs, laconically regarded the competition across the ring.

There was Tyler, of course, casual as always, this time wearing a very small pair of green trunks that resembled briefs more than wrestling gear. Not only were they thin enough to reveal just about everything, but they were damp from Tyler watering down his hair. The bulge at his crotch was very well-defined, and he guessed would show up very clearly on camera.

But there was also someone new, who was at that moment chatting easily with Tyler. Marek Brave was lean – Jon would go as far as to say he was skinny. He could see why he and Tyler were friends and wrestling partners. They were both thin, had long hair and infectious smiles. But Marek's hair was pin straight, dark, and reaching past his shoulders, framing his squared jaw. His eyes were the sort that smiled right along with his mouth, which he noticed contained slightly protruding front teeth. He had on tight red trunks that only emphasized how slight he was.

"Damn," Jon noted to himself. "He's even twinkier than Tyler."

There hadn't been any agreement beforehand to work stiff with Marek. He's not sure he would have done it even if asked – he didn't want to break the boy in two. But he could use that in the match. He and Tyler were not only friends in reality, but in this odd little boner universe of Cyberfights as well.

These poor little boys were in for it, for sure.

The director called for it to begin, and thus the referee began to check Jon's kneepads for foreign objects. He obliged, putting on his smirk for the camera, and directing a confident nod in the direction of his opponents.

Marek and Tyler turned to each other, each of them wearing a look of concern. They took a step at the same time towards their corner and stopped short.

"Uh, you go first, man," Tyler offered, glancing with a side-eye at their opponent in the opposite corner.

Marek shook his head vigorously and grabbed Tyler's arm by the elbow. "No, no, you got this, man, you got it. You can do it."

Tyler ripped his arm away and yelled in exasperation, "No way! I had to fight him last week all by myself! He's fuckin' ridiculous, man, you go first!"

They squabbled for the next few moments. Jon found himself snickering in the corner, both for the cameras and for that they had great comedic timing with each other. Finally the referee approached their corner.

"Come on, guys, you gotta choose someone to start."

Exchanging just one more look with the other, Tyler and Marek engaged in three intense rounds of rock-paper-scissors, with Tyler losing out on the last go.

"Best three outta five?"

The referee signaled for the bell.

Marek flicked Tyler on the forehead and stepped out under the ropes. "I got your back, buddy, don't worry."

Tyler shot a very worried look towards Jon, who was approaching gradually.

"Tyler," Jon drawled with a heavy coating of sleaze. "You busted my nose open last week. Not smart, little guy." The side of his mouth curled open. "I'm gonna make you pay for it."

Tyler turned and made a valiant attempt at running to his corner for the tag, but Jon caught him by the hair before he could take two steps. He yanked him back, wrapping one elbow around his neck but still clinging to his hair with the other hand. Tyler made a rather attractive noise, a strangled little yelp that fell into a whine as his throat became trapped in Jon's arm.

"Marek," he choked out, his hands clawing ineffectually at Jon's forearm. "Marek, help!"

"I can't, Tyler, you gotta tag me first!" In contrast to his statement, Marek was perched as far away on the apron as he could without falling off.

"Off the hair, Moxley, come on," the ref warned, an admonition that Jon was becoming accustomed to.

He could pull on Tyler's hair for days, just to hear the noises he made when he did it, but in accordance with the referee's command he let go of Tyler's hair and used the free hand to wrench his arm even stronger into the choke hold.

Jon hid his face behind his hands to whisper in Tyler's ear for the moment. "Hey Tyler, why don't you go tag your little friend in, huh? Unless... you want stay in the ring here with me. You want me to keep pullin' your hair. I bet you want me to even spank your sorry little ass, don't you? Well I'm not gonna. I'm gonna do it to Marek instead."

Aloud he teased, "Oh Tyyyler, where's your little friend? All the way over there? You're stuck with me now, you little punk, what're you gonna do?"

Tyler kicked both legs up high, and used the momentum to slam Jon's jaw into the back of his own head. The pain wasn't so severe to indicate any damage, but Jon felt tears starting to spill out of his eyes in response. In that split second, Jon's grip weakened, allowing Tyler to wriggle out of the hold. While Jon was reeling, he jumped again and landed a drop kick to the bigger man's chest.

As he'd been allowed, Jon no-sold it, stumbling backwards but making no indication that it had hurt at all. That gave him time to look down as if he'd been hit by a ball of crumpled paper, and then grin with a load of malicious intent behind his teeth. Tyler made it back to his feet just in time to shout in fear as Jon laid a chop against his chest.

Tyler flew back, bouncing hard against the turnbuckle. Marek jumped to the side to avoid not just getting hit, but getting tagged in. Regardless, Tyler flailed toward his partner and managed to lay one hand on Marek's turned back.

The ref clapped. "Tag!"

Tyler scrambled out of the ring while Marek stood dumbfounded on the apron.

"Get in there!" Tyler roared with urgency.

He didn't really have the time to get in there, for Jon had already grabbed Marek by his armpits and lifted him up and over the ropes. The young man let out a panicked scream as he rolled out of Jon's hands and across the canvas, landing prone in the middle of the ring.

Not even allowing time for a single breath, Jon stomped over and seized Marek by the shoulders. He flipped his adversary over onto his stomach and crouched onto his lower back. Jon cracked his knuckles and ran his tongue over his lips, and wrapped his thick fingers around Marek's wrist. With a snarl and a quick turn, Jon had his arm twisted around behind his back.

Jon certainly wasn't holding him too roughly, but Marek wasn't bad at all. The other man squirmed and shrieked underneath him, struggling against the mat and Jon's unyielding grip.

The big man turned his attention to Tyler while holding his partner down with just one hand. The expression on his face could easily be mistaken for anxiousness by anyone else, particularly anyone watching at home. But Jon recognized it. Tyler was envious, aroused.

He couldn't just sit there. Not without making it worse.

"I taught your friend last week," Jon growled at the victim below him, "why you don't get into the ring with Jon Moxley and come out unscathed. Anybody unlucky enough to be on the card with me, they don't come out the same."

With that, he reached behind his back and laid the flat of his palm against Marek's backside with a resounding crack. No matter what, there would have to be a bit of pain involved in wrestling. It was what they'd all signed up for. But he could tell by the way Marek was groaning that the slap had stung like hell.

Blood rushed through his head and down to his groin. He made eye contact with Tyler once more, who he noticed was blushing and bent over the top rope in an effort to stave off a full erection.

Well then. If he liked it so much...

He delivered two more spanks to Marek, who cried out louder with each blow.

Tyler was biting his lower lip.

Boy, were they going to have it out in the locker room later.


	9. Chapter 9

Jon freed Marek from his unrelenting grasp after a total of ten hard spanks to his soft backside. Marek groaned and writhed on the floor, hugging his arm close to his chest, all the while the skin on his bottom becoming stained with hand-shaped welts. Jon stood over him with one foot on each side of his hips. He didn't even have to look at Tyler to know how he was reacting. A palpable warmth churned between them from all the way across the ring, heating Jon at two significant points in his body.

His breath came out in a chuckle as he slowly crouched down and rolled Marek over onto his back. Using just one loose arm, he covered Marek across his chest and gestured for the referee to count. Not even close to a fall – he got his shoulder up at "one" and tried to haul himself to his feet.

He didn't last two seconds upright before taking a couple of chops and landing squarely back on his reddened ass. Jon squatted in front of the prostrate Marek and grinned with his tongue in between his teeth.

With a subtle nod of his head Jon rumbled, "Hey, what's wrong, little guy? Ain't this a wrestling match? Isn't it? Hmm?" A slap landed on his face, just enough to make it clear he was mocking him. "Get up, son, come on." Another love tap. Marek's jaw tightened in reply.

Jon turned his eyes to Tyler, who had one hand covering his mouth and the other gripping the top rope.

Oh he was hurting, it was clear. Maybe even worse than Marek right then.

"All right, buddy," Jon conceded as he stood up. "Tell ya what, how about I give you one free shot, huh? I like to think I'm a pretty fair guy." Arms to the sides, taking two steps back, he waited.

Holding his cheek and glaring into Jon's eyes, Marek stumbled to his feet, and with renewed energy charged towards him with one fist raised and ready.

Jon sidestepped the attempt with grace and ease. "Nope!" He caught Marek, one hand on his back and the other on his chest, and drove his knee into the vicinity of his stomach. While Marek was doubled over and coughing, he squatted underneath him and heaved him up over his shoulder.

Carrying his rival with the same ease he would a pillow, Jon approached Tyler's corner.

"I think I'm done with this one," came a deep sigh from the core of his lungs. He gave Marek another slap to his rump, eliciting a resigned moan of pain. The boy's skin was hot underneath the strike, and clearly so was Tyler's face. Jon pointed at him. "Your turn."

He dumped Marek into the corner. Both of his hands, now free, gestured for Tyler to come to him.

"Oh god, Tyler, please tag me!" Marek groaned, leaning in his direction.

"No no no," Tyler whined, backing away. "I don't wanna, I-"

Marek caught his ankle and then rolled swiftly under the bottom rope. The referee called the tag, but Tyler disagreed.

"I reject that tag!" he shouted, more white in his eyes than brown. "Didn't count, that didn't count!"

The ref put his hands on his hips. "You can't reject the tag, Tyler."

"I can and I will- aaaaaAAAAAHHH!"

Screeching and flailing, Tyler went over the top rope by his shoulders. He rolled across the mat and tried to scurry on his hands and knees to the opposite edge of the ring. With only a few strides of his towering legs, Jon grabbed the back of Tyler's trunks, exposing the slightest bit of his backside. He tried to squirm away without exposing the rest of himself, but there wasn't any chance of that happening.

Not when he still hadn't gotten his.

"Okay, okay, I see now," Jon exclaimed. "You don't want your partner to suffer alone, do ya?" He put his boot to Tyler's back, laying him flat to the canvas. "Your ass..." he slid down and locked Tyler's head under his arm, facing the back of him, "is now mine."

He felt Tyler's fingers squeeze and claw at the arm around the back of his neck, listened as he grunted in effort, watched his feet kick in protest. He watched Tyler's thighs and glutes tense, tighten. He gazed at him grinding his crotch into the canvas.

No further invitation was necessary.

He spread his hand as wide as it could stretch and raised it high above his head. Air whirling between his fingers, he whipped his arm downward, sending the sounds of both the slap and Tyler's exclamation echoing through the high ceiling of the gymnasium. The flesh yielded beneath his hand, rippling and starting to bloom immediately from impact.

"Give up yet?" Jon was practically dizzy from the arousal swirling about his brain and groin, from the musk of Tyler's hair and sweat.

"Nnnggghh! Agghh... No!"

Another smack paired with a yelp rang out.

Jon dared him, "Quit."

"No!" Smack - "Gaaaahh!"

"I can do this all day, Tyler. Can you?"

"Fuck off!" Smack. Smack. Smack. "Aaaauuggghhhh...!"

Jon felt his hand beginning to burn along with Tyler's lower cheek. He wasn't holding back. He didn't know if he had the ability.

He didn't have the chance to find out.

"I'll save you, Tyler!" Marek shrieked out a desperate battle cry and landed two fists against Jon's back. He rolled off of Tyler and onto his feet, finding Marek cradling Tyler's head in his arms. Jon made a displeased noise. Marek then stared up at Jon in abject fear and regret, with Tyler not far behind him.

"Crap," they proclaimed together.

After a few minutes of brawling and careful positioning, Jon had both men sitting side-by-side with each other, sitting up with their legs spread out in front of them. Tyler's wrists were clamped in one hand and Marek's in the other. In his finishing maneuver, he balanced on his backside and planted a boot into each of their spines. Just a few moments of this push-pull and a chorus of of screams before he heard a syncopated pattern of two lovely words screamed out in despair.

"I tap!"

The bell sounded. Jon released his victims, stood up, and knocked them each down with just two nudges of his boot, his arms raised high in the air.

As he stomped from the locker room to the shower, wearing nothing but a smile and a towel around his shoulders, Jon heard the snippets of conversation echoing from behind.

"I'll catch you this afternoon, man, I can grab a ride from Jon. I need to shower."

"Yeah, yeah, all right, Tyler. Enjoy your 'shower'."

The both of them laughed knowingly. Jon himself smirked as well, hanging his towel over the door to a shower stall. He started the water and allowed it to heat up without even shutting the door. He'd barely settled himself under the water, his skin prickling in the heat, when he heard the door click shut behind him.

Tyler stood, equally nude, one hand on his hip and the other clenched at his mouth with one knuckle between his teeth. He was glowing with both sweat and lust, his half-mast bouncing with each step. His face was turned more to the wet floor than Jon, but he looked up at him all the same, smiling bashfully behind his fist.

Jon turned to greet him face-on, one of his hands cupping his throbbing package.

"That looks real nice," he noted, measuring the whole of Tyler with his hungry gaze. "But let's see the back."

Tyler obliged immediately, revealing his red, weal-stricken ass.

"Ooh," moaned Jon at the beautiful sight and strode towards him. "Look at you, Tyler. What kind of sick, sadistic, twisted monster did that to you?"

"Same one that's gonna kiss it better." Tyler tossed something over his shoulder, the object he'd been hiding in his fist.

Jon caught the zipped baggie containing a condom and a tiny bottle of water-based lubricant.

"You an eagle scout or somethin'?" The bigger man pressed himself against Tyler's back, the moisture from the shower and their shared sweat causing his erect cock to slide easily against Tyler's backside.

Tyler let out a whimper at the feeling of Jon's arousal. The breath dissipating against the nape of his neck. The free hand that worked its way from Tyler's hip, across his stomach muscles, up to his nipple. Jon took the hardened nub between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed lightly.

"Nah," he exhaled, spreading his hands wide against the shower door. "Just prepared for very specific possibilities."

"Possibilities, or promises?" He had the condom on in record time, the bottle open, his cock lubed up from base to head by the time the last syllable echoed into Tyler's ears.

Tyler looked over his shoulder, his eye sparkling in wait. "That's right, you promised to fuck me so hard I wouldn't be able to walk."

Jon couldn't wait any longer, the root of him ached to be in Tyler. But he had to do it right. He couldn't fuck it up with him. With one finger slicked up and ready, he placed it at Tyler's opening and eased it into him. So hot, so tight around his digit, pulsing around him. His cock twitched with envy.

Tyler leaned into it, the finger slipping all the way in with little effort. "Don't bother with foreplay, man, I'm fucking dying here."

A quiet laugh rumbled out of Jon's throat. "God you're such a little whore. Did you stretch yourself out this morning?"

"No, nngh, just... I adjust easily. That's all. Ohh, oh man."

Jon had slipped in a second finger. No resistance. He put in a third and started sliding them in and out of Tyler's throbbing opening.

"You don't even have to beg me this time." His fingers slipped out and settled on Tyler's hip. "Your ass is already doing it for ya."

There was no further fanfare, and no longer anything between them but the condom and the friction. Jon started thrusting at full speed without even so much as a pause for breath. Tyler cried out, pressing his forehead against the door and swearing deliciously. Jon buried his face into Tyler's hair and groaned into it, continuing to tease the nipple between his fingers.

"Poor Marek, huh? Poor Marek, he's even more of a little twink than you." Jon started ranting, as he often did when excited. "I held back with him, I didn't spank him as hard as I spanked you. I don't know if he could take it. I don't know him, I don't know if he's a little pain slut like you. You though, you're here for it. You'd just die if I didn't smack you with my full strength, wouldn't you? You'd be so disappointed, right?"

He pulled Tyler's nipple, twisting it.

"God – damn," Tyler gasped. He bucked his hips against Jon's thrusts in opposite timing, slamming himself backward, Jon's cock prodding at his most sensitive spot. "Don't fucking stop, Jon, please, harder..."

He had no choice but to oblige. He did say "please".

His hand clapped against Tyler's other hip so he could hold him steady on both sides. All sense of control washed down the drain at that moment. Growling with heat, Jon began pounding into Tyler with sweet abandon, causing the both of them to gasp and moan from the movement of the other's touch. The cycle of noise and movement fed into an unstoppable feedback loop, building stronger and louder and hotter with every second.

"Mmf, Tyler..." Jon immersed his face into the side of Tyler's neck and grunted into his soft flesh. "God, you... you're so fucking gorgeous." He couldn't in all good conscience call him a slut. Not when he was moaning like this, not when he would give anything to stay in that moment for hours.

Not when he was the one who'd gotten so rock-hard just from seeing Tyler's face in the ring.

"Fuck, Jon, oh my god," Tyler replied, his fingers tensed and slipping against the steamed shower door. "I'm getting-"

His words fell into a strangled gasp as Jon wrapped his fingers around Tyler's cock. He felt the body in front of him quiver and weaken in his grasp.

"Fuck!" Tyler shouted into his fist, now muffling the sound behind a knuckle. "Ohhh fuck," his knees went limp. "Oh fuck, Jon, I can't—It's too much, too good, I fucking can't..."

"Tyler," Jon crooned into his neck. "You can do this. Stay with me, Tyler, ride it out with me."

The whimpers echoing throughout the shower were almost pathetic, so desperate for release. Jon pounded him from both sides, his fist squeezing and rubbing around Tyler's manhood, his own cock throbbing into him without mercy. The pressure at the base of his being was building to its peak. He wouldn't last long, either.

Tyler's breath caught itself in a series of uncontrollable gasps. The cock in his hand started to twitch in heavy pulsations. Tyler collapsed backwards against Jon, shaking as he loosed himself hard in Jon's hand. Tyler's fluids landed against the wall of the shower, the floor, and seeped down Jon's hand. Tyler's hole tightened further around him as his orgasm subsided, pulling the climax out of Jon with a satisfied growl.

Jon had kept his promise. Tyler's knees buckled beneath him and he slid to the floor on his hands and knees. The condom was abandoned to the drain. Jon knelt down with him, stroking his back and nibbling softly at Tyler's shoulder.

In the silence between their breaths, a voice rang out from the locker room, echoing back into their presence.

"Can't believe someone started the party without me!"

Both their ears perked with recognition. Tyler panted out an attempt at a response, but Jon beat him to the punch with a wild grin.

"Jacobs, that you?!"


	10. Chapter 10

Jimmy Jacobs certainly didn't look the part of your average professional wrestler. He didn't possess a lot in the way of height, muscle mass, or definition. By no means was he out of shape, but his body was a little soft over his small frame. His hair grew shaggy and dark around his face, usually streaked with some unnatural color – pink that month. Wild eyes were always surrounded with black eyeliner, a contrast to his strong nose and untamed stubble. And he was almost never seen without a pair of earrings and a choker necklace.

He once described himself as a "zombie princess", in reference to his proclivity towards a dark brand of androgyny. Jon always thought he looked more like an emo werewolf.

Still. In spite of appearances, Jacobs had more talent and passion in the ring than most rosters.

This was never more clear than when he was pitted head to head with Jon Moxley. It had been a while since they'd last been booked together, but it was always a spectacle whenever they did clash. And not just for the audience.

The space between them was magnetic from the moment they locked up for the first time. In fact, the same sort of electricity Jon felt between himself and Tyler, he'd also experienced with Jimmy. Their first match felt like their hundredth to him – nothing called beforehand, everything on the fly, yet everything went smoothly over. And every match they had afterward just got better and better.

This chemistry had never been more obvious than that one night, when Jon began to embrace something he thought he'd buried long before.

Their inaugural feud for Dragon Gate USA culminated in a rather infamous "I Quit" match, one of the more bloody demonstrations in his career. It involved a railroad spike that was struck dramatically into the top turnbuckle before the starting bell, which would come into play brutally and decisively. Not only did it cover both men's faces with blood, it created a memorable and painful finish when Jimmy drove it into Jon's crotch.

It was also infamous among a large set of fans, due to the very obvious ring boner that Jon sported throughout. Not just for Jimmy's attractiveness, but for the feral manner in which he and Jon beat the hell out of each other.

Unbeknownst to the audience, the two combatants had locked up again after the match was over.

In the moment that Jon and Tyler met him in the locker room, themselves clad in only towels, he was wearing just a ripped pair of jeans and a studded belt, complimenting the silver rings that hung from each of his nipples.

"Mox!" Jimmy greeted with surprise, laying a friendly clap on his arm. "The hell you doing here, you lanky son of a bitch?"

Jon rustled his hand through Jimmy's hair and grinned through the side of his mouth. "It's actually your fault I'm here. You left a flyer in the locker room and, well, I'm a curious little fuck sometimes."

"How're you, man?" Tyler offered a hand, and he and Jimmy clasped a handshake into a quick hug. "Haven't seen you around here in a couple weeks."

"Tyler," he chuckled, lingering into the hug a little longer than expected. "Yeah I tweaked my knee, wanted to make sure it didn't turn into something worse. Everything's lookin' good now."

"I'll say," Jon muttered.

"Aaaannnd," Jimmy drawled, sizing up both men with his eyes and lingering on the towels, "I see you two are already friends. Or heard, really." He winked and stripped off his jeans, underneath which he already had on a pair of black trunks.

Tyler started chewing on his already chapped lower lip and grinned sheepishly. "You know me, I don't settle until I get what I want – ah, hey!" He gave a jump in response to Jon squeezing one big hand around his buttock. Jon stuck his tongue out at him.

"That's the Mox I know. Well, and the Tyler I know." Jimmy noticed the time on his cell phone and swore under his breath. "I'm actually due for my shoot about five minutes ago. If you both wanna stick around a little longer, we should go grab dinner later! Or something else." He slipped on his boots, stumbling over the undone laces, and sped out of the locker room, laying a quick spank to Tyler's ass on the way out.

"Fucking hell, Jimmy!" Tyler held the spot where the slap landed, looking hot and exasperated.

The two watched him zoom through the doors, both of them focused on his lower end which was bouncing ever so slightly with each step.

Following a beat, Jon asked, "Have you guys fucked before?"

Tyler nodded, with what Jon might have mistaken for veneration.

Jon shrugged. "Makes two of us, I guess. 'Nother question. Ever do two guys at once?"

He shook his head.

Jon grinned.

Just minutes later, the odd pair sat against the wall of the gym, out of sight of any of the cameras and their conversation quiet enough to be out of microphone range. Though freshly showered and exhausted, they were determined to see Jimmy's recommendation through to the end. Notwithstanding he was a joy to watch, in all possible ways.

The combatants were still having a short discussion with the director, the other participant being quite a bit larger and more muscular than Jimmy. In fact, they seemed antithetical of each other. The second wrestler was tall, muscular, square-jawed, blonde-haired. He could easily pass as a prototypical top babyface anywhere.

Which is why he ended up dominating Jimmy so exhaustively during their match.

Jimmy was able to get in enough hits to make it look like a fair enough fight, but for much of it he was caught in submission maneuvers or reeling from merciless attacks. And throughout the entire shoot, he couldn't keep quiet. His moans of pain didn't sound even close to such. It sounded far more like he was pulling himself off and trying to make sure everyone heard.

While the other wrestler had a shouting, struggling Jimmy in a leg lock, Tyler and Jon exchanged looks.

Tyler cocked one eyebrow at Jon. "What's that look mean?"

Jon made a nod towards the combatants in the ring. "That noise he made just now? Same one he made when I had my dick in 'im."

A snicker came out from Tyler's nose. "That's funny, actually. It's the same one he made when I had his in my mouth."

"Oh yeah?" Jon sneaked his hand behind Tyler and under his shirt, stroking his lower back. "I'd like to see that. I bet your blowjob face is real pretty."

"Prettier than yours. Ow!"

Jon had pinched Tyler on the skin of his hip.

"You should pay more respect to the guy that fucked you so good earlier." He shrugged. "Not that you're wrong. But what we really need to compare it to is..." he gestured towards Jimmy, who was still making that same noise as the final bell rang to signal a win by submission.

Tyler nodded and conceded, "I'll bet his is real nice."

As the shoot wrapped and the director called for the cameras to cut, Jimmy hopped out of the ring and strutted towards the two men sitting against the wall.

Jon slipped his hand even lower, into Tyler's sweatpants. "Let's find out together."


	11. Chapter 11

"So then I'm like, hanging on the bottom ropes, and Jon stomps over like the fucking Super Shredder..."

"The Super Shredder?"

"Yeah, like in the Ninja Turtles movie."

Jon was trying to watch the road, but he couldn't help but sneak a glance at Tyler pouting while Jimmy cackled at him for that reference.

"What a fucking nerd," Jon thought. "He needs to be less adorable, goddammit."

Jimmy hadn't bothered showering before squeezing in between Tyler and Jon in the latter's pickup truck. In spite of it, nothing about his scent was unpleasant. He smelled of deodorant and fresh sweat, and maybe a hint of some kind of fancy hair gel. It was the smell of a recent battle, and of triumph, even if he wasn't the winner of his match.

Each of Jimmy's shoulders was pressed against one of Tyler's and one of Jon's. His legs straddled the center console as each of them swapped war stories from the ring, the road, and the locker room, punctuated with laughter and obscene hand gestures. The friction traded between each of their skin, their conversation, and the anticipation of what was to transpire – it was renewing the arousal that Jon thought he'd expended earlier that day.

They soon arrived at their destination – the apartment complex where Jon resided. As he parked the truck underneath the awning designated for renters, he took a moment to congratulate himself on remembering to tidy up his apartment the night before. He expected that Tyler would eventually be coming over, as Jon actually lived by himself and therefore had a more convenient place for nightcaps.

It was a pleasant surprise to be bringing him here with an additional visitor.

Though "pleasant" wasn't quite the wording Jon would have used. Perhaps more like "fuckin' awesome".

As he walked up the steps to his second-floor apartment, Jimmy and Tyler following close behind and still engaged deep in conversation, he briefly considered his near future. And it occurred to him that he should do his best not to squander this opportunity.

And thus he formulated his plan as he unlocked his front door and led his friends into his living room.

This plan was going to end with him making a ton of pancakes. They could all use some pancakes after so much activity that day.

But it started with inviting his guests to sit on the couch.

Tyler lowered himself onto the cushions while Jimmy thumped down backwards, causing the springs inside to bounce and creak. After removing his shoes, he set his feet on the coffee table and leaned his head against Tyler's shoulder, beaming disingenuously. Tyler rolled his eyes and shook his head but didn't bother to move away.

When Tyler refused to react, Jimmy upped the ante. The short one rolled over, tossing one leg over Tyler's thigh and throwing his arms around his chest. He then made mock kissing noises in his ear while Tyler grumbled in response and tried to squirm out of his grasp.

Jon had remained standing, watching over the proceedings with an interested chuckle escaping his lips. This was far too easy. The plan was coming together without him even initiating it.

It helped that Tyler and Jimmy already knew each other – personally and, well, biblically. Also that Jimmy was all too eager when it came to this sort of thing.

Jon knew this. He knew it all too well.

The crowd was ravenous that night. With each brutal strike against the other competitor, each new draw of blood, each perfectly-executed spot, the noise was unbelievable. And the finish – brilliantly done, as far as Jon was concerned. The both of them were covered in blood and sweat, their own and their opponents'. It seemed sure that Jon would come out on top, but no one could have quashed that possibility like Jimmy.

The railroad spike. The one that had busted each of them open at the forehead and bathed their faces in scarlet. Jimmy took it in both hands and drove it straight into Jon's crotch.

The crowd had a collective fit as Jon tapped out.

There had barely been any time to breathe, must less recover, between the ringing of the bell and the moment that Jon had dragged himself back to the locker room. Dripping blood all over the floor, stumbling over his own feet, Jon barely had time to remove his shoes and knee pads before he collapsed onto the bench.

And there, as he stared at the ceiling through the stinging crimson stains in his vision, he heard someone approaching with confident and determined footsteps. He was far too exhausted to sit up and greet them, but he didn't have to.

Jimmy pounced. Jon felt a significant weight deposit itself over his crotch. And before Jon could react, he was gazing into Jimmy's blood and eyeliner-streaked visage, which grinned down at him.

"You okay, Jon?" Jimmy asked, reaching down to brush Jon's sticky, reddened bangs out of his eyes.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Jon was aching all over, his breath was ragged, and the erection he'd sprouted in the ring was softening. Well, it had been before Jimmy began resting his plush ass on top of it.

Jon was far too tired – and too baffled – to move. He thought back to their match, remembered the energy buzzing between them. What he mistook as simple ring chemistry might have been a little bit more than that. At least, Jimmy seemed to think so, as he was grinding his backside into Jon's reacting loins.

"Jimmy," his voice gurgled between the saliva and perspiration pooling at the back of his throat. "The fuck're you doing—nnnngghhh, fuck." The cool film of sweat covering every inch of his skin was beginning to warm again in time with the stiffening of his dick.

Blood still fell in tiny droplets from Jimmy's forehead, down along the bridge of his nose, and softly landed onto Jon's chest. Jimmy lapped at a crimson streak that had made its way to his upper lip and stuck out his reddened tongue at the man underneath him.

"You're telling me you didn't feel it?" He lay his hands on Jon's hips, his black-painted fingernails digging into his flesh. "That hard-on you had begs to differ, man. You felt this with me, I know you did."

Jon couldn't answer properly. All that he could manage was an aching groan of agreement as Jimmy dragged his nails against each side of his waist.

Jimmy's teeth scraped against shoulders, neck, pecs, nipples, lips. In spite of his heaving chest, Jon couldn't even tell if he was breathing as the blood, the bites, the chemicals flooding his brain blurred his consciousness and left him choking in a miasma of lust.

Somehow, he and Jimmy ended up in a shower stall, stumbling over each other and themselves, their lips colliding occasionally. Jon couldn't remember who turned on the steaming hot water or when, especially considering that he and Jimmy still had their trunks on. Wasn't sure just when the drain became circled with a whirlpool of crimson rivulets. He didn't catch how the lubricated condom made its way onto his dick which was dripping hungrily with precum, where he found the force necessary to pull down Jimmy's soaking wet trunks with his teeth.

That strength. Where was it coming from, for that matter? Because it took a fair amount, even though Jimmy was much smaller than he was, for Jon to lift him up and balance his thighs on his shoulders. And he achieved this feat to slam him against the tiled wall, his mouth hard at work teasing his tightened anus.

"Ohh, aaah!" A storm of whining moans raged forth from Jimmy as he squirmed in Jon's grasp. "Oh FUCK, Jon, mmh!"

These pretty noises he was making with those pretty lips of his. Nothing but Jimmy's voice was stimulating Jon at that moment, but he might as well have been squeezing his own cock with both hands. He could live on those sounds, the way they melted into his ears and ran hot down his esophagus and stoked the fire in his groin.

The way the pressure was mounting, the way his dick was twitching between his legs, he could go at any time.

But he didn't want to explode just yet. Not without putting that condom to use.

Jon allowed himself one last furious lick to Jimmy's underside and then lifted him off of his shoulders. He turned around and braced himself against the wall where he'd just been holding Jimmy, and lowered him so that their waists met. Growling with heat, Jon positioned Jimmy's tight hole over the tip of his length. Jimmy whimpered, biting down on his own tongue, his gorgeous eyes pleading with Jon.

He slid Jimmy down. And he made THAT noise...

The one he made in the Cyberfights ring.

The one he was making in Tyler's ear, apropos of nothing, to tease him.

And it was working.

Tyler clearly wanted to be annoyed at him, but it wasn't quite coming across. His eyebrows gave it away, making him appear far more aroused than angry. Following his moan, Jimmy snickered at Tyler's reaction and nibbled his earlobe.

Jon finally spoke up, having fallen out of his memory and back into the present. "Well, you two already seem pretty comfy, don't you?"

Tyler rolled his eyes again. But he didn't deny it. Didn't even try to hide the bulge in his sweatpants. In contrast, Jimmy grinned up coyly at Jon and began stroking Tyler's quivering thigh with one graceful hand. A shuddering breath came out of Tyler, probably out of his control, since he blushed madly as soon as he realized Jon had heard it. He started to push Jimmy's hand away.

"No, no." Jon sat himself on the coffee table in front of them, his hands clasped between his knees and his eyebrows raised in expectation. "Don't mind me, here. How's about you two just... start without me?"

Jimmy was far too keen on this idea. He crawled over onto Tyler's lap, straddling him at the waist, and took his face in both of his hands. His fingertips caressed Tyler's lightly stubbled cheeks as each of them looked into the others' eyes. Their breaths began to drag out, weighted down with desire for the other. It didn't take much to get Tyler going, did it? By that point his hands wandered up from his sides to rest on Jimmy's hips, sneaking under the hem of his shirt.

Jon could feel the burning between them despite being a few feet away. His thighs squeezed together to give some sort of relief to the yearning between them. He was determined, though, to not touch himself quite yet.

Tyler pulled Jimmy's shirt over his head, and upon dropping the garment to the floor, gazed down at the rings pierced through his nipples. Jimmy let out a chuckle and returned his hands to Tyler's cheeks, much more insistent this time. He pulled Tyler's face towards him and collapsed into it, drawing him in to a long and steady kiss.

Without unlocking their mouths, Jimmy began grinding himself against Tyler's crotch, which he bucked forward in response. Jon spotted tongues darting in and out between their lips, sliding in syncopation. The friction burned at every point that the two of them touched.

And the both of them were making such wonderful noises. Jimmy aching and loud, Tyler desperate and failing to contain it. In between and during the contact of their lips and tongues, Jimmy seemed determined to make Tyler just as wildly aroused as he was.

"Fuck, oh god damn," he moaned down Tyler's throat. "Oh-h-h-hh, you're so fucking hot. Lemme touch you, I know you want me to touch you." He started fumbling below at Tyler's pants, untying the string and loosening the waistband of his sweatpants.

"No, nngh, no way," Tyler retorted, grasping both hands firmly into Jimmy's hair. "I want you to suck me."

Jimmy full-on laughed, his voice ringing out into the close air of the apartment.

"Tyler!" he guffawed as he slid down off of his lap. "Fuck, I didn't know you could be so forceful." He reached into Tyler's waistband and pulled out his fully hardened, pulsing erection.

Jimmy smirked, measuring him with his eyes. "You better keep that up." Jimmy leaned in, rubbed his length against his cheek, and then ran the flat of his tongue from bottom to top. A small trail of saliva hung from his bottom lip to the head of Tyler's arousal.

And then, with ravenous hunger, he sucked him into his mouth.

Jon wondered how Jimmy could grin with a cock halfway down his throat, how he could make the same noises through the muscle smothering his tongue, how he pursed his lips so beautifully.

And he wondered how long he could keep himself from jumping in while Tyler was reacting with such perfection.

A grimace crossed Tyler's face, as if he could barely stand to have such a gorgeous mouth around his cock. He grunted through his clenched teeth, played with Jimmy's hair with one hand and clutched at his own chest with the other – like he was trying to contain his essence from spilling forth with just his palm.

Not for very long, as it turned out.

Jon slithered onto the couch and took Tyler's head into his strong arms. Then, before laying into his lips with his own, he muttered, "Jimmy's blowjob face... it's really fuckin' pretty, isn't it?"


	12. Chapter 12

Jon held Tyler's shuddering frame close in his arms as he pressed his smiling lips against the ones quivering under him. Jimmy moaned around Tyler's cock in the meantime, one hand stroking Tyler's hip and the other fondling his own crotch. Each of the three men burned desperately for even more proximity, more friction.

Just... more.

In particular, Jon needed to see more.

A few blond curls fell in front of Jon's face as he lifted himself from Tyler, whose lips reached out in vain for a moment after. He couldn't suppress in the grin on his own lips as he studied Tyler's expression.

His eyelids were weighted down with arousal, fluttering shut with every noise emitted by the man currently sucking him off. Breaths clouded in lust fell out from his parted lips. His chest rose and fell in time with Jimmy's head in his lap. And his tongue tensed and relaxed at seemingly random intervals, as if craving its own stimulation.

"Oh, look at you..." Jon rumbled, his fingers tracing the line of Tyler's jaw. "Tyler, I wish you could see yourself right now. You're such a cute little slut, you know that?" He ran his first two fingers along Tyler's bottom lip, and chuckled as he slid them into his mouth.

The whimpers began. They clawed their way from Tyler's throat and exploded into Jon's rushing bloodstream, solidified within Jon's throbbing cock, spurred Jimmy's efforts below.

Tyler's soft tongue glided wet against Jon's fingers, nuzzled between them.

A malevolent laugh came flickering out of Jon.

"Mmph, Tyler..." Jimmy whined from between his legs as he came up for air. "You taste so fucking good." He pressed his tongue against the head of Tyler's manhood, drawing out a sweet, suffering noise from the man above him. Then, letting out a delighted moan, he lapped with the pointed end of his tongue at the slitted opening.

Tyler let out a gasp, the signal that Jon had learned to anticipate.

Not yet, though. Not yet.

"Hey, calm down there," Jon warned, nudging Jimmy on the side of his head. "Poor Tyler can't take much more."

Jimmy's tongue retreated back behind his grin as he pulled Tyler's waistband back up to where it belonged. He crawled back onto the couch, seating himself on Jon's lap instead this time. It took Tyler a moment to recover from the stimulation; he heaved out some deep breaths before his head fell to his side to stare at the new situation developing to his left.

Jimmy was right there in his lap. What else could he do? Jon wrapped his arms around Jimmy's waist and pulled his body close to his chest. "Tyler, you don't mind if I entertain Jimmy for a little bit, do ya?"

Pupils blown, probably just a few touches away from orgasm but acting as if he were in no position to do anything about it, Tyler panted where he sat. One hand was tangled in his own hair and the other was clawing at his thigh. And all he could seem to manage was a resigned nod of his head, the signal to go on.

With a very pleased growl, Jon pulled Jimmy even closer, so that their breaths melted into each other. He took the lips of the smaller man between his teeth, resulting in that moan in his ear. Goddamn that moan. It made Jon positively itch in his lower stomach in the best way. He slipped his tongue into the mouth making that wonderful sound, and let himself moan in response.

In between Jimmy's smile, Jon mumbled, "Mm, you know, I can taste Tyler on you, Jimmy... No mistaking it, I know what he tastes like. And you said it yourself, he tastes so good, mmmh."

Their chests pressed together as they continued to cling to the others' lips. Jon felt the cold metal of Jimmy's nipple piercings against his warm skin, and thus couldn't help himself. He unlocked himself from Jimmy's mouth and shifted his position below him, his scruffy cheek nuzzling against Jimmy's smooth chest.

His tongue fell out from between his teeth and teased at Jimmy's hardened nipple, making him gasp and writhe in his lap. Jon pursed his lips around the little nub and sucked hard. The smaller man crushed his groin against Jon's thigh, thrusting as if he were inside someone to the base of his pelvis.

Mox released his nipple and moved on to the ring hanging through it. He rolled the tip of his tongue against it, playing with the steel, feeling Jimmy's approval in the tensing of his back muscles against his forearms. The ring found itself clamped between Jon's front teeth. And before he could even make a move, he found Jimmy leaning backwards, slowly, whimpering at the sensation.

"Ah, god..." came the whine from behind the intense grimace on his face. "P-Pull on it, Jon, please..."

He grinned, the metal smooth between his teeth. Placing one hand over the opposite pec and toying with the ring between his thumb and forefinger, Jon bit down firmly on the ring in his mouth and turned his head to the side, stretching his nipple outward ever so slightly.

Jimmy alternated between gasping with pain and chuckling with pleasure. His gasps rang out louder as Jon pulled on the other ring with his fingers at the same time.

"Oh fuck," he exclaimed as he grasped the back of Jon's head and pulled him close, his breathing ragged and quick.

He heard Tyler gasping from the other side of the couch as he released the nipple rings and locked up with Jimmy at the mouth again, harder, recklessly. The heat between them was growing to be much like that locker room shower. And Jon's head was beginning to swim just as desperately as it did back then. To not only have Jimmy fucking Jacobs in his grasp, under his lips, grinding into his lap once more, but to have Tyler squirming just inches away, hanging on their every move.

"God fucking damn," Jon chuckled through the unbearable heat. "I gotta fuck one of you real soon or I'm gonna explode... So who's first?"

Jimmy slid off of his thighs and onto the floor, getting on his knees once more and placing his head directly in front of Jon's crotch.

But a second later, Jimmy wasn't the only one in his lap.

Tyler had pounced, himself, clutching desperately at Jon's thigh and staring up with pleading eyes.

Shit. How could he choose now? Jimmy's beautiful mouth just begging to take him all the way in. Tyler panting and champing at the bit to have Jon inside him.

"Both of you?" he smirked as the two of them clambered for his attention, pretending to pout at each other.

"Jonnnnn," whined Jimmy, letting his tongue hang out of the side of his mouth. "Come on, it's been so long, I haven't had you in such a long time. Tyler got you this morning already." He laid his head against Tyler's shoulder, rubbing his cheek against his shirt sleeve.

"All right, all right," Jon laughed, placing a big hand on each of their heads. "Calm down, guys, there's plenty to go around... Get up here, both of you."

Jimmy and Tyler shot each other a grin and then climbed onto Jon, each straddling one of his thighs.

This should prove to be interesting.

And at the moment following that thought, Jon had two pairs of lips colliding with his, two tongues fighting to be the first one inside. Two sources of alternating breaths steaming against his cheeks. Two crotches pulsing hard against each thigh. Four hands grasping his shirt and the quivering muscles beneath it.

Though they began by awkwardly crashing their mouths together, each one kissing the other two at the same moment, Jon made a slight turn and gave some much-needed attention to Tyler. The two of them went hard and resolute, passion boiling between them. Moments later, Jimmy muscled his way in and kissed Jon with chaotic, frantic energy.

Tyler then grabbed Jimmy's jaw with one hand and forced their lips into a furious tangle. Jimmy could be heard snickering into Tyler's mouth. Jon grinned, himself, watching their lips embrace. He hadn't seen Tyler's aggressive side before that day, but it was truly wonderful.

He could watch them for hours. But the heat was apparently becoming too much to bear. Tyler and Jimmy eventually turned their attention back to the man whose lap they were sitting on.

Through the efforts of both men, his shirt disappeared into the aether and his jeans were undone. They each ended up on opposite sides of him, and it wasn't entirely clear which of them had taken off his jeans and which had taken off his boxers. Nonetheless, it was clear that he was stark naked and had two supremely talented and ridiculously attractive men with their heads in his lap.

His cock was hard, resting against his bare stomach, just waiting for someone to make a move.

Well, someones.

The both of them went for it at once, each holding it aloft with a hand laced in another hand, laying their tongues against his shaft, each pressing and swirling with vigor, as if to outdo the other. Jimmy lapped hard and fast, with plenty of practice and deliberate moans. Tyler's tongue slipped heedless against the stiffened muscle as he desperately gasped for breath.

The sensation of two tongues on his cock was incredible, but even more incredible was the sight of Jimmy and Tyler competing for his pleasure, their tongues occasionally meeting incidentally around his shaft. Jimmy was laying open-mouthed kisses all over his length while Tyler ran his tongue along the bottom ridge of the head.

Their mouths happened to impinge on each other as they both went for the sensitive muscle on the front and near the top of his cock. With little more than a meeting of their eyes, they began kissing each other with the head of Jon's dick between them.

The moans began anew, from all three of the men. Jimmy and Tyler's lips and tongues slid along Mox's hardness and into each other. It became a storm of soft wetness working to pleasure the man in between them. Like reddening pink rose petals in a warm summer rain, their mouths caressed Jon's most sensitive parts and sent pressure building through his length and his inner thighs.

Jon swore under his panting breath and grabbed two handfuls of hair out of sheer pleasure. They were both doing such a good job... it would have been such a shame to interrupt.

But his palms itched, his fingers starved for it.

And he was never one to make particularly reasoned decisions.

He growled, and pulled.

The two of them winced away from his crotch, a couple of yelps ringing out into the air of the apartment. Tyler squirmed where he was, groaning in pain and joy. Jimmy, again. Making that goddamn noise.

"Got a couple of pain sluts right here, don't I...?" Jon rumbled low in his throat, making the two men in his fists writhe even more. "Which is precisely..." he pulled them upwards, drawing out a few more moans, "... how I like my sluts."

Jimmy was palming himself through his jeans. Tyler looked as if he might cry if no one touched him soon enough.

"Jimmy, lemme ask you something..." Jon loosened his grip and gave a nod towards Tyler. "You ever have Tyler's cock in you?"

"N-No," he huffed. Then quickly added, "Not yet."

"And Tyler, you've never been with two guys at once before."

Tyler nodded slowly.

"I did promise I'd show you some new stuff..." He gave it a few moments' thought, diagramming the possibilities in his head. Soon, he came upon something he thought would work just fine. "You two get ready, there's a few things I gotta grab from my room..."

Jon stood and stepped away from the couch, leaving Tyler and Jimmy to furiously strip off the rest of their clothes. He returned within moments with two condoms and a bottle of lube to find his compatriots now entirely naked as well, Tyler lying on his back on the couch and Jimmy starting to climb on top of him.

Like they read his damn mind.

Jon made his way to the couch and knelt behind Jimmy, handing him the condom and the little plastic bottle. He then watched in awe as Jimmy ripped open the condom and applied to Tyler's stiffened member... using his mouth. Tyler was similarly entranced as Jimmy took the whole of his length down his throat, using his tongue and lips to roll the condom to the base of his cock.

"God damn, Jimmy," Tyler laughed in disbelief. "Where the hell'd you learn that?"

After releasing him from his mouth he chuckled and muttered, "Same place you learned that thing you do with your hips. College." He straightened up and popped open the bottle, applying a generous amount of the slippery fluid with one quick hand.

Jimmy crouched over Tyler, getting himself into the proper position. Jon took his hips in his hands, squeezing gently, his chin resting on Jimmy's shoulder and his eyes staring into Tyler's. Slowly, painstakingly, he held Jimmy as he lowered himself, Tyler's cock sliding with ease into his entrance.

And for several sweet seconds, Jimmy sat panting lightly with all of Tyler filling him up. Mox observed Tyler's expression soften from a more intense feeling to the relaxation of their stillness.

But it couldn't just sit there like that. None of them could.

Jon let go of Jimmy's hips and let him begin slipping himself up and down in Tyler's lap. While Tyler's eyes fluttered shut and squeezed with pleasure, Jon Moxley prepared his own throbbing manhood, just as Tyler's had been moments ago.

Both of the men in front of him were starting to moan and gasp by the time he was ready – covered, lubed, smirking with anticipation. And without any warning he took one of Tyler's knees in each arm and lifted both him and Jimmy some inches upwards, just enough to position the head of his cock at Tyler's waiting hole.

Tyler felt him immediately, his thrusts into Jimmy slowing. "Hoooly fuck, Jon, are you-?"

He was.

And Tyler didn't have time to finish his question before Mox was balls-deep inside of him. Tyler's eyes popped wide open and squeezed shut in rapid succession, his teeth clenched over his bottom lip. And once more the three of them froze for a few seconds to adjust. Tyler was beginning to sweat and make very quiet whimpering sounds, Jimmy was giving out quiet moans and looking over his shoulder at Jon with a grin in his eyes, and Jon was panting with his lascivious tongue hanging out of his mouth.

It took some doing to create the proper rhythm, what with so many moving parts, but it didn't take very long. Soon enough, Jimmy was steadying himself with one hand on the back of the couch and the other squeezing his thick, uncut cock as he raised and lowered himself in Tyler's lap. Jon, however, was holding Jimmy by the stomach and gripping one of Tyler's thighs as he thrust his hips forward.

Tyler himself couldn't even move. He was usually an active participant in sex, but all he could do at this point was lie there, inside Jimmy and Mox inside of him, his hands covering his mouth in a futile attempt to muffle his desperate whimpers.

Things blurred, as they do in the throes of such passion. Fingernails dug into various limbs, sweat intermingled with sweat, moans and whines and delighted snickers that gave way to uncontrollable groans all echoed throughout the apartment and bounced about their ears.

None of them would last very long. And that was perfectly fine.

Jon reached up with both hands, allowing his hips to keep time inside Tyler, and once again took hold of Jimmy's nipple rings. He wanted to hear that noise again – louder this time, and not just because Jimmy wanted him to hear it. Jon wanted him to truly feel it, to be unable to keep it in his lungs. Like he truly meant it.

He tugged the metal piercings, thus pulling a wild, shuddering, aching moan from Jimmy. The sound went on for what seemed like minutes without a single breath as he fiercely pulled himself off while being held captive by Jon's hands and Tyler's cock. And in mere moments his body gave way to five great spasms, his pleasure rocketing out of him and splattering white and hot onto Tyler's chest.

At this, Tyler couldn't hold back anymore, either. In quick succession he whimpered and cried out, bucking his hips into Jimmy, his tight hole becoming even tighter around Jon's cock. Jon let go of the piercings and wrapped his arms around Jimmy's chest to stabilize himself through the thundering tension rushing through his entire body.

Tyler nearly sounded like he was weeping. His moans were loose, pitiful, dire. Almost as if to comfort him, Jon let himself whimper. It was unlike him – the noises he made were normally aggressive and controlled. But this wasn't the time for it.

He had to be with him on this.

Jon peaked and released into Tyler's pulsing being, while Tyler came down with heavy, unsteady exhales, and Jimmy slumped backwards against Jon's chest.

"Holy fuck," Tyler repeated, but could only leave it there as Jimmy and Mox detached themselves from him.

Jimmy made it one step from the couch before he collapsed to the carpet, seeming perfectly content to just lie there on his side for a little while. His peaceful smile gave that away.

Jon knew better than to try to get up so quickly. Instead he laid Tyler's thighs flat and fell prone onto his stomach, resting his head on the pillows he'd created.

"You okay there, buddy?" Jon asked, reaching up to pat Tyler on his tensed abdominals.

"Y'even have to ask?"

Jon Moxley settled with a grin dimpling his cheek. He could stand to lie there for just a bit longer. His friends wouldn't be going anywhere, either.


	13. Chapter 13

Jimmy had fallen dead asleep on the floor where he'd collapsed, snoring softly even as Jon was banging cooking implements together in the kitchen. Against his better judgment he remained naked as he whisked pancake batter in an old tupperware container and left the frying pan to heat up on the stove. Tyler had enough sense to put his underwear back on as he watched Jon at work from the counter.

"You're gonna burn your junk," he warned. Tyler was currently nursing a lukewarm beer that Jon had thrown to him earlier as he stared at Jon's naked back.

After applying a healthy amount of butter to bubble on the pan, Jon pointed at him with the spatula. "This may not be obvious to you, since I'm classy as fuck and all, but I cook naked most of the time. And I've never burned my junk."

A pregnant pause followed this claim, the silence filled only by the hum of the ceiling fan and the sizzle of batter being poured onto the hot pan.

"Okay, maybe once, but I don't cook bacon without wearing underwear anymore, so I won't burn my junk again."

Tyler snickered quietly behind his hand, trying not to rouse his friend snoozing in the living room. This was in spite of the fact that he hadn't woken from the clang of the pan earlier. Jon noticed that, grinning to himself. Tyler actually seemed to care about things, and people.

That was... nice. Jon appreciated it. But he ignored how it made his heart skip for the moment. Time for that later... eventually. Maybe. If he felt like thinking about it.

But for now, there were pancakes to cook, and then presumably eat. Assuming he didn't flip them too high again. Scraping batter off of the ceiling was a bit of a bother.

Some minutes later, a stack of pancakes smothered in butter and syrup sat in front of Jon on the kitchen table. In contrast, Tyler had just two on his plate with just the lightest drizzle of syrup. More batter sat in the fridge for whenever Jimmy managed to rejoin the land of the living. Jon dug in without hesitation, stuffing his face with the fruits of his labor while Tyler carefully ate small bites.

Jon glanced up and noted the dissonance between them. He nearly asked if they were any good. Nearly. But he thought better of it rather immediately, and he attempted to appear uncaring of whatever Tyler thought.

"These are fucking delicious, right?" he mumbled through his full mouth.

"Oh, yeah!" Tyler agreed, beaming. "I fuckin' love pancakes, and I have pretty high standards, you know. And these pancakes are pretty damn good."

"You can give it a rest," Jon teased, stabbing a piece from his plate and pointing his fork at him. "Didn't you already suck my dick today?"

Before he had time to react, Tyler clasped one hand around Jon's wrist and leaned forward to take the fork into his mouth, and the bite of pancake disappeared into his smiling cheek. And something about his mischievous expression and the hand hugging his wrist made his stomach twist itself in knots.

Tyler swallowed and smiled down at his own plate. "I meant it, though. And I'm having a lot of fun hanging out with you lately." His brown eyes drifted up to meet Jon's and a light blush spread over his cheeks.

"Yeah."

Jon couldn't come up with anything else to say. He attempted to smile back, but found that his mouth could only hang open slightly. In his throat he felt a few words occupying far too much space for comfort. He cleared it with a cough and went back to stuffing pancakes into his mouth, hoping the syrup would stick to those words and keep them from escaping.

Tyler seemed not to understand the significance of that silence and moved on. "So, when do you think you'll do another match at Cyberfights?"

Relief washed over him. Thankful for the change in subject he swallowed and replied, "Dunno. I actually have a CZW show in a week and a half, so I'll need to rest up for that."

"Oh yeah? I'd like to come see that."

"Oh, dude, you should totally come down for it. We got blood and weapons 'n shit, it's great. Hell, I could probably get you a match if you wanted. You're way more than good enough."

He let out a nervous chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "Wow, I dunno. I don't think I'm quite hardcore enough for that."

"What if it was against me?"

Their eyes locked. Tyler's expression was softening from anxiousness to a trusting half-smile.

"I think I could handle that..." A thought seemed to come across his mind, as it showed on his face. "I hope you don't want me to do a death match, though. Whatever that entails, I have no idea..."

"Fuck no," Jon answered, maybe a little bit too quickly. "No, I'll think of something, but it ain't gonna be a death match."

It was at that moment that a still extremely naked Jimmy Jacobs crept up behind Tyler and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, eliciting a snicker of surprise from the brunet. Blinking his rather sleepy and very pretty eyes, Jimmy nuzzled his face into Tyler's neck.

Jon looked on with amusement and chuckled, "Welcome back. Hungry?"

"Ravenous," Jimmy responded. And as soon as the word left his lips, he clamped his mouth against Tyler's neck and bit down.

"Aaah, Jimmy! God dammit," Tyler exclaimed, squirming under Jimmy's teeth. "Jesus Christ, who let you off your leash?"

"Now there's an idea..." Jon muttered to himself.

It didn't take very much convincing for the match to be set for the very next CZW live show. His scheduled opponent was otherwise occupied that night, so there was already a gap in the roster. Further, Jon had been around and pulling more than his own weight long enough to have some creative pull. It took just one video of Tyler's work for the match to be approved.

"good 2 go," Jon typed into his phone with just a little less difficulty than usual. He stared at the message as he sat in his apartment just moments after he ended the call with the owner of the company. The note seemed too dry, too professional to leave it at that. So with a twinge of effort in his face he put together a semicolon with a closed parentheses. That seemed more like it came from him.

Minutes later the phone buzzed with a new message. And upon seeing Tyler's name at the top, his heart gave a flying leap that sent his head in a whirl of confusion and frustration.

Why the hell did that keep happening to him, anyway?

Every time he got a new message, a call, or even a look from Tyler, his body would react physically. And not just in his loins. His entire circulatory system would gasp and go rushing about him like an anthill under attack. Some sort of tight knot would tie itself out of his stomach and his lungs would constrict in on themselves.

He certainly liked Tyler. A lot. Usually it took something really pissing him off for his body to react with his emotions, but...

Well that could only mean one thing.

Jon crushed an empty beer can in his fist and gulped his nerves down.

Shit.

This was not something he'd planned.

And he couldn't tell if it was worse that Tyler seemed to have the same feeling about him. On the one hand at least the subject of these emotions was almost certain to return them. And on the other, it meant they would definitely have to come out sometime. And soon.

He was so out of sorts that he couldn't even bring himself to read the reply at that point. His heart began pounding for another reason – the same one that kept him fleeing for his life at the sight of a group of large and angry men from his childhood street. The one that locked him in a hall closet while his mother had a screaming match with a stranger who refused to vacate their home. The very same urge that set his feet against the pavement faster than he ever imagined he could move whenever he heard sirens behind him.

His survival instincts were kicking in.

Because the people and things he tended to feel so strongly for were never truly his, in the past. They would never be in his grasp for very long. They would disappear or hurt him at the slightest opportunity.

And it had always been this way. Why should it change now?

He finally flipped the phone open in an attempt to put all of that to the back of his mind. If he could throw all of his thoughts into planning this whole thing, at least he could keep his anxieties at bay.

"Awsm!" Tyler had replied. "Cant wait to see you again. :P"

"God fucking dammit," Jon muttered to himself as he cracked open another can of beer.

Jon spent the better part of the following week desperately working his muscles to their limit, avoiding any unnecessary contact with Tyler, and drinking away his evenings. His lack of experience with technology and his natural comfort with being by himself made this behavior seem rather normal. At least, Tyler didn't seem to notice anything was awry.

In a stark contrast to his intense, itching state in their time apart, Jon found himself entirely relaxed as soon as his eyes met Tyler's in the CZW locker room. Amongst the rough and tumble, heavily scarred and sometimes downright unsightly company, Tyler Black was a smiling breath of fresh air.

Just seeing his face loosened most of the nerves that had been dogging him for the past week. His brain seemed to float in a warm bath of endorphins rather than struggle against the tide of anxiety. So he was surprised to find himself beaming as Tyler approached him.

They shared a quick hug punctuated with a firm pat on Tyler's back.

It was the moment that they held each other loosely at the forearms and exchanged greetings that a raspy voice piped up from behind Jon.

"So that's the flippy little fuck you were talking about!" Sami Callihan, already dressed in his full gear, slapped Jon on the chest and offered the same hand to Tyler. "The New Horror, Sami Callihan. And you're Tyler, yeah?"

"Yeah, Tyler Black." He shook Sami's hand, looking slightly overwhelmed by his irreverent energy. "You're Jon's tag partner, I've heard him say some great stuff about you."

"I heard him say you were prettier than Jimmy Jacobs," Sami retorted as he measured him with a few glances. "I dunno about thaaat..."

Tyler looked over at Jon with the same mischief in his eyes that Sami was wearing. "You think I'm pretty?" he snickered.

Jon felt a heat in his cheeks that he wasn't used to. He tried laughing, but it died in his lungs a moment after it began.

"Wow," Sami chuckled. "Have you got it bad for him..."

A punch landed against Sami's shoulder, which appeared to come out of nowhere. Jon didn't even realize it had been him until his knuckle started throbbing a moment after.

"Aaahhhaaa, owww," his partner laughed as he rubbed his shoulder. "That's gonna leave an ugly bruise."

Tyler's eyebrow raised about halfway up his forehead. He attempted a laugh, too. "Well, I'm gonna get ready. Try not to wear yourself out before we get in the ring, Jon." With that he returned to his duffel bag on the bench around the corner and began undressing.

"Dude, you okay?" Sami's attitude dropped off the face of the earth for a moment.

Jon felt as if his soul was itching. His fingertips burned, starved. His gut clawed at itself and threatened to burst out of his torso.

"I'm good. Just... getting into the mindset."

He walked off to sit next to Tyler, where they prepared for their match in an odd but comfortable silence.


	14. Chapter 14

Jon Moxley entered the ring to an outright ovation of vitriol, the kind that only threw fuel on the fire of his performance. It was split down the middle between cheers and boos, half of the crowd spewing contempt and the other wildly excited to see what sort of villainous acts he would commit. As a heel, this was the perfect indication that he knew exactly what he was doing.

The harsh entrance music blared through his ears and pumped straight into his veins as he stomped from the backstage to the ring. Having donned his ripped black denim jacket, trunks printed with his logo, and an aggravated sneer, he was unmistakably himself as he glared into the crowd and made rude gestures in their direction.

As he trudged up to the ring, he snatched a microphone away from a stage hand and rolled underneath the bottom rope. He clicked the device on, took a moment to spit on the canvas, and awaited the audience noise to reach an acceptable level.

Not that it mattered. He could yell over them if he needed to.

"I've been feeling very itchy lately, been feeling like my skin is trying to rip itself off of my goddamn bones. Probably because I'm just so bored. I've run through everybody else in this locker room at least once, most of 'em several times. All your big heroes," he began ticking off on his fingers, "Drake Younger, Scotty Vorteks, Nick Gage, I mean, I could go on but we don't have all day here, do we?"

After allowing the chorus of disapproval to die down, he went on.

"So management decides that a scumbag like me can't just take a little time to relax, not after beating everybody they can throw at me. Not a 'congratulations', not a single positive word for scumbag Jon Moxley. They grab a wrestler from somewhere else just to see if they're lucky enough to get one over on me. And yanno what? That's fine, that's fine. I'm used to that kinda treatment. So tonight I'm up against Tyler Black, one of the finer wrestlers on the indie circuit today, all the way from bumfuck, Iowa, in a dog collar match.

"And that's fine, too! I love that kinda shit! I love not being able to breathe right for a week after a match like this, I like the swelling I get in my eyes from getting hit by a fistful of chain, but what I love the most is that whoever's unlucky enough to be attached to me, whoever that is – Tyler – they can't run off to the back if it gets just a little too intense. They can't punk out or run away and leave me with the blue balls of a win by disqualification.

"Because I may not be able to run very fast, but I can sure as hell beat the shit out of anybody that I can catch."

With that, he tossed the mic into the corner and stripped off his jacket, not even turning back to see Tyler as his music hit.

To his credit, and the crowd's, Tyler got a respectable reception for someone outside of the company. Being indie wrestling fans, some of them might have already seen him from online pay-per-views. Plus it would only serve to annoy his opponent.

As Tyler ascended to the ring, Jon finally deigned to turn and meet his gaze. Without having planned it, Jon approached Tyler and stopped just inches from his face. Now able to speak without the crowd needing to hear him he began ranting.

"Hope you're ready, Tyler," he smirked. "I hope you're ready to get your sweet little ass slapped around, ready to get pulled on that leash, ready to have my teeth in your neck. It's so appropriate that I get to see you in a collar, because I'm making you my bitch tonight." Nothing he said was particularly suspicious, if anyone happened to hear. But it all had a very different meaning coming from him, and directed towards Tyler.

Tyler grinned confidently back at him, not bothering to actually respond. The crowd reacted as expected, letting out a long, loud, collective "oooh" with interest as Mox yelled into Tyler's undaunted expression.

Finally, the referee entered the ring carrying two leather collars and a thin chain to connect them. He got in between the two combatants and forced them apart. Jon stalked back to his own corner, the referee close behind. Still glaring at the man in the other corner, Jon allowed the collar to be put around his neck and the chain to be attached to the front.

Moments later, Tyler was given the same treatment. And following a quick tug of the chain to test its mettle, the ref signaled for the bell to be rung.

Rather than lock up immediately, as they did in their first bout, they circled each other, the chain jingling between them, weighing down their necks. Mox feinted, causing Tyler to lunge forward. The bigger man then stepped back, his arms outstretched, laughing at his little prank.

Tyler cocked his head to the side, looking even more like a puppy than he did when the collar was first put on. Then, shaking his head, he spat out, "Asshole!"

It only made him laugh harder as he finally made good on his threat and lurched towards him. The smaller one saw this coming, however, and took hold of the chain. He gave it a powerful tug, adding far too much to Jon's momentum, sending him bouncing off of the ropes.

Though they'd only fought a select few matches, Jon already felt like he'd wrestled him a thousand times. Therefore he ducked under Tyler's attempted clothesline with ease and scooped one arm between his legs once he was behind him. Jon rolled him up in a small package, but he kicked out before the ref could even count to one.

The audience was enthralled as the two men got one another counter to counter, dodging left and right, hopping over each other, matching speed to strength to ring awareness. Soon, the chain would come into play as well. As had happened in his other dog collar matches, Jon ended up taking a chain between his legs, which got a huge laugh from the spectators. He also found himself bleeding from the eyebrow after Tyler hit him in the forehead with the chain in his fist.

Jon would soon take revenge, however. After watching Tyler turn to climb to the top rope, Jon took the chain in hand and whipped it against Tyler's ass.

As the smaller one shouted and collapsed in a heap on the canvas, Jon rolled him over onto his back and attempted once more to get the pinfall. No dice – Tyler had his shoulder up at two. Jon slammed his palm into the canvas and looked at the ref in mock disbelief, which allowed Tyler to spring up and wrench Jon into an arm bar.

Tyler's thigh was pressing against his neck, only compounding the effect of the collar. Jon wasn't in the maneuver for five seconds before he leaned his head forward and sunk his teeth into Tyler's flesh.

His arm now free, and Tyler squirming away from him, Jon scrambled to his feet. He cackled as the crowd began to jeer at him once more, wasting no time in getting Tyler's legs tangled onto his shin. And moments later he collapsed onto the mat and locked his other leg into a figure-four maneuver, wrenching it in further using a length of chain.

It wasn't quite as obvious, considering he actually wore compression underwear today, but Jon had been getting hard all throughout the match. And he suspected Tyler was feeling similarly, for the look on his face was not just of pain, but of anticipation and arousal.

Tyler struggled against the leg lock, trying to bash his legs free, but Jon held tight. The desperate one tried to pull himself backwards to hold onto the ropes, but Jon only dragged him back to the middle of the ring, where he arched his back, bridging the move and only wrenching it further.

The agony on Tyler's face sent his hand slamming repeatedly into the canvas, and the bell rung.

"Your winner, Jon Moxley!" the ring announcer bellowed.

No sooner did he release Tyler from the leg lock did he stand up and exit the ring. While the audience hurled both abuse and encouragement at him, he grabbed Tyler by the arms and dragged him out of the ring, carrying him on his shoulders to the back as the announcers and crowd speculated with disgust what kind of horrible things Jon Moxley would do to his poor opponent.

On the contrary, he set Tyler down as soon as he reached the backstage. Everyone was far too busy preparing for the next match to pay them much mind. They congratulated them on the great match, high fives were exchanged, but soon Tyler and Jon were left to their own devices. Being familiar with the building already, Jon nodded toward a hallway and the two scampered off, still attached by the chain.

They crashed into a broom closet, already completely entangled in each other at the mouth and hands. Jon shut the door behind them and locked it all without releasing Tyler from his lips. He dove his tongue into the other man's mouth as he pushed him against the wall.

Their chests locked and slid against each other with their shared sweat, their thighs interlocked and forced their crotches together. Just as he suspected, Tyler was already as hard as he was. Grinding one groin against the other, whimpering and moaning against the others' lips, grasping desperately at whatever parts of their bodies they could reach.

Tyler laid one final lick of his tongue against Jon's bottom lip and slid down, his hands dragging down his chest. With little ceremony he pulled down Jon's trunks and freed his diamond-hard manhood, grinning and practically drooling at the sight.

"Tyler, such a good boy, huh?" Jon rumbled as he picked up the chain in one hand. He pulled Tyler towards him and ended up with his face firmly pressed against his hardness. Giving him a few pats on the head he went on, "Wanna be a good little bitch for me tonight, huh? I'll give you a treat if you're good, I promise..."

The brunet let out a wavering sigh of lust and nodded. Usually Tyler had some sort of response or banter to whatever Jon would say, but it seems his arousal left him dizzy and unable to even speak. Instead, he let his actions speak for him.

He ran his tongue from Jon's base to the head, holding him at the waist. The look on his face, the glaze over his eyes, the hungry licking mouth, the smile playing at the corners of his lips, it made Jon twitch in his lower half. The pressure had been building with every touch in the ring, and he was already getting close to his peak. And it didn't help that Tyler looked so pretty on his knees with the collar around his neck.

Tyler took Jon's cock into his mouth and sucked on the head, leaving his tongue to press against the ridge below it. The bigger man found himself moaning much louder than usual. Normally he opted to talk through an encounter like this, but the words weren't coming to him.

At least, not the ones he wanted. Where he wanted to praise Tyler for being so good with his mouth, for being so hot, for being so good to him, other words were filling up the back of his throat. They threatened to come out, to be said, to be heard.

Jon shoved a knuckle into his mouth, pulled on the chain, and thrust his hips forward. As more of his length slid into Tyler's mouth he bit down harder on his finger, the pressure ramping up with every moment. And suddenly Tyler was moaning around him, whimpering as he came up for air, clutching at his hips with shaking, sweating fingers.

Just as suddenly, Jon gasped and held Tyler close to him with one hand on the back of his head. His manhood twitched and his loins tightened. Letting out a deep, aching groan, his pleasure shot out of him and down Tyler's throat.

The one on his knees swallowed twice, whining with joy. Then, having leaned back and allowed the softening member to hang free, he gazed up at Jon with the sweetest smile he'd ever seen.

"Have I been good enough, Jon?" he exhaled before licking his lips.

Jon collapsed to his knees and put his hands on Tyler's shoulders. Those words were coming up again.

"So good," he mumbled before he could stop himself. "You're so good, Tyler, I..."

He leaned forward and set his mouth against Tyler's neck, biting down and eliciting a happy gasp from him. With no further foreplay, no warning, he slipped a finger into his own mouth and shoved his hand down the back of Tyler's trunks. As his middle finger pressed and beckoned at the opening, his other hand retrieved Tyler's pulsing, hard dick from the front of his gear.

Jon held him tight from front to back, his entire body enveloping Tyler in his embrace. He teased him at his tight hole while pumping him hard in the front. Already the other one was falling apart in his arms, he moaned and whined against Jon's shoulder as he received even more bites against his neck.

As hard as it was to keep down the words, that's how hard he sank his teeth into Tyler. And Tyler responded with just as much enthusiasm to match. He shuddered against Jon, moaned with every touch, gasped and whined, clung to his back and dug his fingernails in.

"Oh god, Jon, yes," he panted. "That feels so good, I love it, goddamn..."

He had to say that word... had to. And so did Jon.

But...

His heart pumped with far too much panic, his lungs shrunk, his throat constricted.

So instead, he gnawed on Tyler's shoulder, sucking at his skin, lapping against the bruise forming. His finger finally entered Tyler to rub at his sweet spot. And, being stimulated from all sides, he let out a desperate gasp and grasped Jon even tighter as he came into his hand.

The both of them panted and clung to each other for dear life. Jon held him close, feeling the hot breath on his chest and the cooling sweat on his shoulder. He lapped his hand clean of Tyler's orgasm and then held the brunet's head to his chest, his heartbeat pounding away. And they remained that way for god knows how long.

"Wanna stay at my place tonight?" Tyler asked as he began to breathe normally. "Marek's outta town this weekend, and I thought-"

"Yeah," Jon answered. It was all he could say.

That was all.


	15. Chapter 15

"Aahh! Ow, fuck, dude!"

Tyler squinted at Jon through his thick-framed glasses. The bigger man was sitting shirtless on the edge of the bathtub and glaring with perceived injury. He had squirmed away from the alcohol-soaked cotton ball held in Tyler's fingers as soon as he'd dabbed it against the cut above his eyebrow. The sting was still burning above his eye, drawing a tear or two. A small pile of reddened tissues lay in the small trash can next to the toilet, and Jon had thought cleaning up the blood on his face was enough.

Not so.

"Are you being serious right now?" Tyler laughed incredulously. "You're a fucking wrestler, man, suck it up."

"Fuckin' stings, all right?" Jon pouted. "Just put the damn band-aid on it, it's fine."

The makeshift nurse shook his head and brushed a few blond curls away from Jon's brow. "Who knows where that chain's been? I don't want you to get an infection just because I didn't pull my punch well enough. Again, sorry about that..."

"You kidding? Crowd went nuts, they loved it. Aah, son of a bitch!" Tyler had struck again with the cotton ball. Jon hissed in a breath as he endured the attack on his forehead.

"Thought you got off on pain, ya weirdo," he mumbled behind a smirk. With that, he tossed the cotton ball away and applied the bandage over his cut.

"Careful, I don't wanna rip off my eyebrow once it scabs." Once he was left to his own devices, he pulled a clean tank top from his bag and yanked it on.

"You barely have eyebrows to begin with." Tyler began washing his hands thoroughly at the sink and snickered at Jon's exasperated glower.

He was soon joined at the sink by his patient, who was narrowing his eyes at his own reflection in the mirror. His fingers prodded at the band-aid until he received a quick slap to the wrist. Following a quick and amused stare-down, Tyler let out a giggle, leaned up, and laid a gentle kiss over the band-aid.

Jon couldn't help smiling at that. What a ridiculous dork. A dork he'd gotten himself rather worked up over.

He watched Tyler dry his hands and leave the bathroom. His hips were swinging just slightly as he walked down the hall, as if he were celebrating some sort of impressive victory. Jon couldn't bring himself to be annoyed with him – not when he looked so good from that angle.

"Hey," Jon called after him, hustling to follow more closely. "My dick still hurts, too. Could you kiss that one better?"

He caught a throw pillow with his face for that one. Nonetheless, he joined Tyler on the couch, and didn't even bother to get him back for it. He slid one arm behind Tyler's back and lay his head on his welcoming shoulder. The smaller one riposted by stroking Jon's back, leaving them with a shared warmth unlike the one they were now rather familiar with.

In spite of the concerns and anxieties that still lingered in the pit of his gut, he found them melting away as his back muscles relaxed under Tyler's touch. He knew they would rear their ugly heads once more, and soon. But he wouldn't deny himself the temporary reprieve. Not when it was soaking into his muscles like a warm bath.

"Meant to ask you before," Tyler suddenly began as his hand lingered against Jon's bare shoulder blade. "Where'd you get this?" His fingers traced against the pink, raised straight line that lay on his skin there. The scar tissue had reduced sensation compared to the skin surrounding it, but it still radiated with a tingling sensation as Tyler's finger pads bumped over its ridge.

"No-Rope Barbwire match," Jon recited, the memories flooding back. "Germany, me and Drake Younger got tangled like a couple of fish in a net. Took like ten minutes to get us both out..." The burn of cold water against the exposed meat of his flesh. Haphazard stitches he couldn't bother to count. The sensation of pulling his shirt off his back the next morning, like peeling off freshly-laid wallpaper.

Ah, nostalgia.

"Jesus," Tyler winced, his hand crumpling away from it and settling a little lower on his back. "How long were you out?"

Jon paused. Not because he didn't know, but because he hadn't really thought about why it would be strange to answer truthfully. Not until then, at least.

"Uh. 'Bout twelve hours, give or take. Did another match the next day."

"Jon..." His name came out as if it hurt to say. It didn't scold. It worried. Agonized.

"What?" He shrugged. "I'm a fuckin' wrestler. Gonna get hurt, gonna get scars. Can't really avoid it." At that, he pulled one leg up onto the couch and repositioned the rip in his jeans, so that the white ridges there were visible. "I mean, I got a ton of 'em."

Tyler leaned over to stare at them, with not just sympathy but with curiosity. He reached down to feel them. "You get those from barbed wire, too?"

"Glass, I think. Tournament of Death. Not even my match, though, it was Nick Gage and Thumbtack Jack. Nicky was bleeding way too much, had to get airlifted to the hospital. My match was already over, I was just wearing shorts, but I kinda... improvised."

He let his leg fall back to where it rested before. It was only a few moments of silence between them, but it was too much for him. He wasn't even facing Tyler, but he could feel his concern boring into him.

"It's not a big deal, though. My choice to do death matches 'n shit." He started chewing on a knuckle. "I think they're kinda cool, actually. Battle scars, you know."

Tyler found another scar just under Jon's ear, lightly tapping it. "What about that one?"

"Beer bottle." It fell out of his mouth as if pulled naturally by gravity. His eyebrow cut started to throb as the rest of him went numb.

Tyler kind of scoffed at that. "What, you guys do beer bottle matches or something?"

"Not a match."

"What?"

"My mom's boyfriend. Well. Ex."

The bottom fell out from under the room. Tyler's hand was shaking a bit as he lowered it down onto his own knee. The warmth between them was cooling, and fast.

"It's fine," Jon said. He said it, whether or not it was true. It wasn't his decision if it was or not.

Jon stared at the floor, groped about for Tyler's hand and held it tight.

"I mean. You know. I told you, it's... I get along all right nowadays." His foot tapped incessantly against the floor. His blood was buzzing in his veins like television static.

Tyler's hand trembled as it squeezed Jon's fingers.

"It's just what happens." Jon continued without being prompted. Like the nosebleed Tyler gave him during their first match, the words were flowing outside of his control. "To me, I mean. I exist, I get hurt, I get back up and keep going. I keep going so I can try again. Then I get hurt again.

"I dunno how else to put it, but the world just kinda spit on me since I was born. I know you've seen my promos... I don't really make much up in those. Anything or anybody I love, they just get taken away or they hurt me or they get me hurt. I do get pissed about it, I just... yell about it and make it sound like it made me a winner. Pretend like I'll feel better by beating the shit out of somebody because that's what the crowd wants to hear. But I don't feel better. I just feel less shitty as time goes on.

"And I'm collecting scars like fucking stamps because when I'm in the ring I just forget for a second that it's not really a fight for my life, like it's for a purpose. Like when I was twelve and watching wrestling and for just a little while each week I could pretend that good people always win at the end of the day. And remember it when I'm trying not to get killed when I get shaken down for cash when I'm walking home from school.

"And I survived, 'cuz of that. 'Cuz I believed in those stories they tell in the ring. At least, it rang true to me. I used it, and I'm still surviving because of it. I'm hurting and I'm surviving and it always feels like I'm gonna win someday. I can stop surviving and start living.

"So... I... don't know how to do anything but survive. Because anything I love is gonna hurt me in some way or another. That's the cycle."

He rubbed the band-aid on his forehead, hard enough to make the stinging and aching return in spades. And the thrum of his heartbeat slowed just enough to return his breathing to a normal pace.

Suddenly, Tyler was clinging to him, his face buried into the crook of Jon's neck and shoulder. His arms enfolded around Jon's waist, his fingers clutched desperately wherever they lay. He was shaking lightly all over, whether from nerves or from the strength of his grasp, Jon wasn't sure.

And Jon shook a little bit, too. He'd said it. Finally, he'd said it. The word he'd choked down for the past week.

But not in a way that Tyler would fully understand what he meant.

His own hand ended up on the back of Tyler's head, he pulled him even closer if it was possible.

"Tyler, geez. You're not the one telling the sob story," Jon chuckled darkly.

Before he could say anything else, they were locked at their mouths again. They boiled together on the couch, each touch, each movement only increasing the temperature. Clothes were ripped away and abandoned. Bites were given and taken and welcomed and cherished. The friction melded them together to the point where Jon could no longer distinguish between his own limbs and Tyler's. They moaned into the night and cried out their connection.

And they were stuck together with sweat, their bodies suspended loose against each other, when Tyler finally spoke.

"I won't hurt you," he whispered into Jon's neck. "I promise. I won't. I can't."

Jon ached to believe him with all of his being.


	16. Chapter 16

Jon and Tyler spoke no further on that subject for the two weeks that followed. Point in fact, they weren't able to see very much of the other during that time. Their booking left them with little time to rest, much less plan a get-together. They kept in contact as much as they could, phoning each other to briefly check in.

And in a way, that made it easier. Tyler had enough sense not to bring it up again, Jon didn't have enough time to slip up and say anything he couldn't deal with. He had the space to figure out his own emotions, to deal with Tyler knowing some of the more uncomfortable particulars of his life, to plan out how he could possibly reconcile his survival mechanisms with what he wanted from Tyler.

With Tyler.

It was that last one he had the most trouble with.

He understood precisely why his throat closed around those words, exactly why he was so hesitant to even believe he had those feelings. And he was fully aware that Tyler knowing so much about him could push him away, but it seemed to have done the exact opposite.

He could deal with that. It wasn't as if he wanted Tyler to be further from him. In fact, he longed to be even closer.

But he felt like he was catching a hard kick to the chest every time he even considered telling Tyler about it.

Yet...

It was unspoken from the moment Tyler clung to Jon at the end of his rant. They were committed to each other on some level that he could not even begin to describe. He could feel from Tyler, in the shaking of his limbs and the tightness of his grip, exactly what he wanted and how much he wanted it.

And he realized this as he stared into the ceiling of his bedroom on his first day off in two weeks.

His heart dropped into his stomach and splashed his guts with nerves upon waking. Both of their schedules had finally cleared up, and Tyler was slated to come over that afternoon.

Jon groaned loudly into the empty air of his apartment and turned over onto his stomach. He crushed his face into the pillow until he needed to take a breath. For several minutes he considered calling and saying he'd caught something, that he didn't want to get Tyler sick.

But then he imagined spending that night without Tyler. Preparing and eating dinner alone. Lazing in front of the TV with no one to laugh with. Being in bed, without Tyler next to him, without his scent filling his senses, without the touch of his skin, the softness of his hair, the sound of his breath and his fluttering snicker. Jerking off by himself with only the squeak of the bed springs for company.

His stomach gave an even sharper turn at the thought.

Seeing him would be difficult, for sure. Not seeing him would be far worse.

Well. No use moping about it, then. Jon hauled himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans, and prepared for it as much as he could.

Light came through the windows of the living room in an ever-deepening orange. The ceiling lamp and fan were off in an effort to save money – a habit Jon had developed in his childhood. But the lights in the kitchen were on, and so was the stove.

Once more, against all better judgment and advice, Jon stood in front of the stove without a shirt on. At least there wasn't much danger of burning his junk this time.

He was searing two thick steaks in a frying pan, watching carefully as they sizzled and spit in the heat, while Tyler stood just a foot away chopping vegetables on the cutting board. He'd come over wearing a loose tank top and black jeans, as well as a trucker cap containing the Black Flag logo.

Jon had considered throwing on a shirt before he heard the telltale knock at his door, at least try and make himself somewhat presentable. But Tyler had already made it very clear – he took Jon as he was, and embraced whatever oddness he encountered. Even if it was strange, or downright uncomfortable.

What Jon had gone through was not all that he was. And Tyler was kind enough to see that.

Somehow, what he'd dreaded before was calming him now. Tyler's presence hummed gently next to him, sunk into his flesh, quieted the constant buzz of nerves in Jon's psyche.

It was... nice.

More than nice.

He didn't quite have the words to describe it further. So he simply allowed his brain fall into silence and let himself enjoy it.

"Got any garlic salt?" asked Tyler all of a sudden. He was searching among the small, red-capped containers in the cabinet, turning them about to read their labels.

Jon shook his head and reached toward the cutting board, filling his fist with some of the onions Tyler had already sliced. "I got garlic, and I got salt." He threw the onions into the pan, relishing in the sound and scent as they began to cook among the steaks.

Tyler shrugged, content to pull out just the bottle of rosemary from the shelf. "No problem. S'easier than chopping up garlic, is all. Don't have to get your hands all sticky."

"You know you love getting your hands all sticky," Jon growled lewdly from the side of his mouth.

"Says the guy who jerked me off through a pair of tights."

Jon flicked a piece of onion that had stuck to his hand in the direction of Tyler's head. The quick little bastard dodged it, however, and lobbed a small piece of carrot in return. With equal speed, though a little clumsier, Jon caught it out of the air and stuffed it into his mouth.

Between crunching he warned, "This keeps goin' the way I think it's goin', there won't be anything left for dinner. You're lucky I'm ending it here, I've won way more food fights than you could shake a stick at." He grinned through the fragrant taste of the carrot and stuck his tongue out, revealing the half-chewed remains of Tyler's projectile.

Tyler pretended that he was absolutely disgusted with his behavior, but completely failed to hide that snicker that huffed out from his nose. "Somehow I believe you. I bet high school was pretty entertaining for your classmates."

"How so?"

Tyler arranged the vegetables in another skillet – the closest thing Jon had to a roasting pan. "I mean, correct me if I'm way off track here, but I can imagine a smaller and scrawnier Jon Moxley in the cafeteria, mixing up your entire lunch into some gross mush, and begging people to dare you to eat it."

"Nah, you got me pegged, actually." Jon opened the oven, the heat floating out and warming his face, allowing Tyler to slide the skillet in. After the oven door was closed again, he went on. "But after the first time I puked, I didn't have to beg anymore. They kinda just threw money at me, mixed up whatever food they didn't wanna eat, and served it up. Easy way to make pocket money, since Mom never had enough to give me any for myself."

Tyler chuckled and launched into his own story, something involving cafeteria pizza and candy from the vending machine at his high school, leaning against the counter and weaving his tale with a deadpan humor and illustrative hand gestures.

Jon could only half-listen to the story. He wanted to; he did love to hear Tyler talk. But it occurred to him as he'd finished his own narrative just how easily it had come out. For the most part – outside of his often alcohol-fueled promos – he kept his past to himself. Even small, incidental anecdotes. Ones that had little importance, containing nothing but amusing and innocent events.

This was especially true around Tyler. Or, it had been true.

Tyler now knew a lot of the worst of it. Not just from the videos online, but from Jon's own lips.

Anything Jon said now came out as easily as the story currently emanating from Tyler's mouth.

It felt... normal?

Normal.

And not just the sort of normal that was specific to Jon, the normal that taught him to carry a box cutter while he walked home from fifth grade.

Like... normal-normal.

He rolled that word around on his tongue without parting his lips, to the point that it no longer sounded like English.

Jon Moxley was far from normal. He'd accepted that a rather long time ago.

But he could stand just this taste of normality. Tolerate it.

No.

No, he could learn to like it, he thought. Given enough time.

And he wanted plenty of time to learn. To like.

To...

Well.

He didn't have to say it. Or even think it. He knew it. He could know it and silently accept it for now.

"... and so I'm spitting cheese and Skittles everywhere, there's teachers yelling at us, my friends are all fuckin' dying, and the whole cafeteria is in chaos. I got detention for a whole week." Tyler seemed oddly proud of that statement, grinning with that adorable gap in his front teeth.

Jon found a grin spreading across his own lips.

They ate dinner sitting next to each other on the couch, not really paying attention to whatever channel Jon had playing on the TV. Every word was effortless, each peal of laughter casual and comfortable. Once dinner was finished, they traded touches and kisses with the same ease that they might shake hands.

They really hadn't had much of a chance to enjoy each other in this way. A majority of their encounters had been quick, heated, leaving little time to just exist in the arms of the other. Jon found his heart melting a bit as he savored Tyler's languid mouth against his. He hadn't ever kissed Tyler in such a relaxed environment before. Usually they were fucking within minutes of first contact.

Not that he didn't enjoy that, too. But this was something quite different, and welcomed.

Jon stroked Tyler's hair, nuzzled into his neck, felt his smooth stomach underneath his shirt, tangled up their legs together, laced his own hand in his fingers. Tyler sighed, smiled, lay against the couch cushions with his eyes relaxed shut. And they remained touching, laughing, breathing with each other for a significant amount of time.

It was pitch black outside by the time Jon finally disentangled himself from Tyler and stood up in the flicker of the television screen. He bent down to pick up the plates from the coffee table and started towards the kitchen. From the sound of rustling fabric, he could tell Tyler was stirring from his position.

"Nah, just relax, man," he muttered. "Just wanna get these done before I forget. Dishwasher's broken, so..."

"No, no," Tyler disagreed, already right behind him. "You made me dinner, the least I could do is help with dishes."

Jon placed the dishes on the counter and set about finding a rag and bottle of soap in the cabinet under the sink. Tyler snatched them both from his hands as soon as he stood up straight.

Throwing his hands up, Jon made a dramatic gesture towards the sink. "No arguing with you, huh? You're a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

"You're complaining about me helping you with chores?"

"Shut up."

Tyler chuckled and turned on the sink. Unceremoniously, he tossed the rag into the sink and picked up a plate. "Dinner was great, though. Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." Jon started collecting the pans from the stove to bring over to Tyler.

Rag in hand, Tyler applied some soap to the growing pool of water in the sink and went about washing one of the plates. Apropos of nothing, he burst out chuckling, quietly, biting his lower lip in an attempt to stop himself.

"What's so funny?" Jon was smiling a bit, himself. Tyler really had a dorky, infectious little laugh.

"Ah, nothin'," Tyler gave a small, happy sigh. "Just, thought it was funny. You makin' dinner, me over here washing your dishes. Bickering about stupid bullshit. Like we're married or something."

Just when he thought the frayed ends of his nerves had healed.

Jon's pulse began to race at that statement. He could feel his calm coming apart at its already threadbare seams. And he couldn't even tell if he was out of fear or anticipation or a combination of both at once. As if he might keel over dead or start laughing with unbridled joy. His body couldn't decide on either of those options, but his hands were certainly trembling.

He dropped the pans onto the counter, resulting in a short clang that startled the other man.

"Whoa, Jon-?"

He was upon him already. Jon placed his hands on the counter on either side of Tyler, his bare chest hot and heaving, staring through the fog in his eyes into Tyler's baffled countenance. He saw the ghost of himself in the reflection of Tyler's eyes, crazed with emotions and heat he couldn't even begin to fathom, his mouth and eyelids merely hanging open.

He felt outside of himself, in a way that scared and excited him.

Like each of his nerves was vulnerable to the pain and pleasure of the entire world.

"Tyler."

"Jon, what's going on? Are you alright?"

With a breath, the words tumbled out of him before he could even think them. "Take me."

"What?" The concern on his face. The worry in his brow. The white on his knuckles as he clung to the wet rag.

Gently, Jon opened Tyler's hands and deposited the rag back onto the counter. His hands drifted slowly to Tyler's wrists, and he placed them over his own hips. Tyler's fingers were damp, limp against the skin of his waist.

"Tyler, take me." Jon thrust his hips so his groin met Tyler's. He crushed his palms against the hands holding his waist, begging to be squeezed there.

"Jon, what are you-?"

"You know what I mean. Just do it, all right?" Slowly, gently, shaking, Jon leaned forward and lay his forehead against Tyler's, his eyes squeezed shut. "I... I fuckin' need you. I need you so bad, Tyler. Please. Just..."

His mouth was shut for him, to meet Tyler's lips that had lunged forward. Jon's heart calmed the moment they connected, while he felt Tyler's chest beginning to pulse harder and faster.

"Geez," Tyler laughed, detaching himself momentarily. "All you had to do was ask. Get your ass to the bed then."

Jon took Tyler by the hand and nearly dragged him from the kitchen and through the open doorway to his bed room. There were clothes on the floor, one of the light bulbs was burnt out. There was an empty beer bottle on the side table. It was stuffy, he should have opened the window that morning.

Oh well.

Tyler smirked with mischief and gently pushed Jon over to the bed. Jon grasped Tyler's shirt with both hands as he fell backwards onto the mattress, pulling him down. Tyler landed hard against Jon's chest, probably harder than he expected to.

"Whoa," he gasped. "Sorry, you all right?"

"Yeah," exhaled Jon. He'd barely felt it, if he had to be honest. "Kiss me."

He did, with enthusiasm. Their lungs kicked into high gear as they desperately clung to each other at the lips, teeth snagging against wet, soft flesh. They traded laps of the tongue, little moans, shuddering gropes, resolute thrusts of their groins and the shifting of thighs to meet them.

"Fuck," Jon whimpered into the stale air. He trembled underneath Tyler, each rub of his hard crotch against his partner's body leaving him ravenous for more contact. "Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"I... I got a condom and some lube in the side table drawer. Go for it."

Tyler left him for just a moment. And in that time Jon ripped his jeans open and pulled them off, his underwear going with them. Tyler himself stripped entirely naked before retrieving the needed items from the side table.

In spite of the season's heat, the still warmth of his room, Jon was chilled by Tyler's absence from the bed. Tyler was rock-hard already, as well, and was engaged in applying the condom and lube to himself as Jon lay waiting. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Tyler clambered back onto the bed, smiling and reaching towards Jon.

He felt a slick finger softly parting him at his most intimate hole, and he was nearly boiling from just that small touch. He'd played with himself back there before – regularly, if he was pressed on the matter. But there wasn't anyone else who had ever been inside him like that.

It was going to be entirely new to him, but...

He was sure. He was as sure about this as he was about his feelings for the man touching him.

"Do it," he gasped.

Tyler looked as if he were going to speak, but one glance into Jon's eyes kept his mouth shut. He moved, positioned himself. And he was at Jon's entrance just a moment later, his breath wavering in his throat.

He moved into him.

Jon was filled, in all possible ways. Tyler was panting above him, a gentle smile on his face.

Nothing more had to be said. Jon clung to Tyler's back and pulled him as close as physically possible. He began pumping in and out immediately, Jon's cock rubbing against his stomach.

The moaning filled their ears, it wasn't clear which sounds came from which man. They stuck together with sweat, they writhed against each other, they clawed for more contact. Jon felt his bottom lip tearing underneath his teeth, the taste of his blood peppering his tongue. He twitched and quivered. Words reached out from his throat, he wasn't sure which ones, probably something obscene and desperate.

Tyler mumbled into Jon's neck. Happy whimpers, aching gasps. Encouragement. Praise. He stirred in a syncopated rhythm with Jon, his hips giving great spasms into the clenched space in front of him.

There was no sense of time between them. It would be dark for an eternity for all Jon was concerned, and hot, and welcoming.

They arrived at some point, exclaiming without words how incredible it felt. Grinding out the final throes of passion, they slowed to an eventual stop. Tyler hung against Jon, deciding not to withdraw just yet. He smiled into Jon's collarbone, kissing him here, ragged breath landing cool against his damp skin.

Jon felt sticky. Fulfilled.

Happy.

"God, I... I love you..."

Jon's heart nearly burst from his chest, his head swimming with anxiety. They were said. They were said aloud, in a way that could not be ignored or mistaken. Those words existed in the tangible universe, between the two of them, pumping through their bloodstreams and sparking between their eyes.

It took Jon nearly a minute before he realized it wasn't his own lips that had said it.


	17. Chapter 17

"Oh, god."

Tyler rolled off of Jon to sit on the side of the bed, head in his hands and back heaving with his breath. "I... didn't..."

Jon hadn't moved an inch since it was said. His arms lay limp at his sides as he stared holes into the ceiling. He felt as if his chest was going to implode on itself, like his legs were made of electrified gelatin. Like he would stop breathing if he even twitched.

The man next to him heaved a deep sigh and then cautiously turned to look back at Jon. There was much churning in his wide, brown eyes – some mixture of fear and anticipation. His bottom lip quivered, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Just the faintest, choked hint of a whimper. He turned back, gazing into the floor.

"Tyler," Jon breathed, only able to speak his name and nothing more. And it felt sticky in his mouth, like it had glued his throat shut.

And so he reached out, still too far to touch him. He was helpless for the moment before he remembered he could even move. Jon rolled onto his side, curled himself around Tyler's lower back, clung there as if for dear life.

"I didn't mean..." Tyler sucked in a breath, perhaps a little too quickly. He held onto Jon's hands. "Okay, well... I meant it. I did mean it. I just... didn't mean to say it just then."

He'd meant it.

He...

They.

They loved each other.

Jon clawed at himself to say something back. For weeks he'd been bottling those words, burying them deep, fearing that they'd escape.

And yet now, when he was sure it would have been safe to say it, that he'd survive saying them, that Tyler would want to hear it...

Nothing. Not a single sound could get through. His throat had snapped shut on them, and even swallowing was painful enough to burn a tear down his cheek.

Tyler whimpered out a breath and started talking, as if he needed to fill the void of silence.

"And look, I... I get it if you don't say it back, I mean... geez, we haven't known each other that long at all, I'm kind of a moron for saying it so early. It was a really intimate moment, and I guess I was just really into it, and..."

The next sentence seemed to catch in his throat and die there. He blinked for several moments, his mouth hanging open. A hand drifted up to run through his damp, frizzed hair.

"All right, no, no, that's bullshit, I'm sorry I even said that. To be honest, I've felt it for a while. I knew that there was something between us as soon as we had that first match, and the way you touched me was... I-I dunno, it just felt so comfortable. Like I was exactly where I should be. And that might sound really stupid, but I just don't care. I had to say it."

"Tyler." His name rasped forth again.

"Too soon, huh? Must be. Especially with you, man, I know everything's been difficult for you, especially when it comes to l... well. You know."

"Tyler..."

"Jon, I'm sorry, I just hope I didn't fuck everything up, I just needed to say it for so long-"

"Tyler, shut up for a second."

Jon hauled himself to an upright position to find Tyler wide-eyed, his lip chapped near to the point of bleeding from how much he'd worried it with his teeth. Looking him in the eyes, Jon still couldn't bring forth the words to properly express himself. His gut seemed to twist around his lungs, constricting his voice to the point of uselessness.

His hands trembled up to embrace Tyler's jaw, and Jon leaned forward. Their foreheads connected to stick whatever locks of hair were caught between them with sweat. Jon attempted, through sheer force of will, to express those words in the way he gazed Tyler. And the only other thing he could do was softly kiss him, not for a moment breaking their eye contact.

His throat snarled itself clear.

"Tyler, I... feel the same way, all right?" It was all he could manage. The way his heart pumped fear through the rest of his body, he may as well have been at gunpoint. "But... I can't... fucking say it."

He let his hands drop, his head still pressed to Tyler's. "I want to. I've wanted to, for fucking weeks. I tried to, but I couldn't."

Tyler took Jon's hands and just held them, his eyes clamped shut. It was barely visible in the dark, but Jon's heart sunk into his stomach as he watched Tyler's eyelids begin to sparkle with tears. He shut his own eyes, squeezed Tyler's fingers.

"I just... my body won't let me. It's like everything I was ever afraid of will tear me apart if I say it. But I want to, I wanna say it more than anything, I want you to know how much I... how much I feel that."

"I get it, Jon, I know, I understand completely," Tyler's voice was quivering at the back of his throat. For a moment he drew closer to Jon, their lips barely grazing, before he drew away suddenly.

And he was standing up. He was turned away from Jon. He had his head in his hands and he was taking steps away from him...

Jon snatched Tyler's wrist in his hand and tried to pull him back. His mind was racing – why would...? He said he...

What?

They froze there, Jon kneeling on the bed and holding Tyler's wrist in both hands, Tyler midway through a step and his shoulders hunched over.

Words spilled out of him, almost in the place of the tears he was long past able to shed. "Tyler, I'm fucking sorry, all right? I wish I could say it, I want to, but I don't want you to fucking leave, I want you to stay, all right? Stay here, please, please just stay with me tonight. I'll say it eventually, I promise, I can... I can get the fuck over myself, okay?"

Tyler snatched his hand away, suddenly much louder than Jon expected. "It isn't that, Jon, okay?! I said I understood, didn't I?"

A breath stomped out of Tyler's lungs, he shoved his hand through his hair and grasped it, hard. "I have something to tell you. And if I say it, I just... have a feeling you're going to hate me."

Jon's hands fell into his lap. He felt like all of his limbs were about to rend themselves away. "Tyler, why the fuck would I hate you? Did we not just have a conversation about -?"

"I got a contract offer."

Well, there was one shoe, unceremoniously dropped. But where was the other?

"That's... good. That's fuckin' great. Right?" Jon could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. "Where is it?"

"Florida."

Oh. There it was.

Tyler let go of his fistful of hair and let his hand bounce against his hip. "Look, it's... it's big, all right? It's a really big deal. I mean. You know who runs developmental in Florida, right?"

"Yeah. I know." His head might as well have been at the bottom of the ocean. Every breath felt like it could be his last. At least, his chest hurt like it was. "When did you find out?"

"Yesterday." He was pacing now. A few steps one way and then the same amount in the other. Almost stomping. His head was shaking back and forth, as if he didn't want to believe it himself. "So... I guess maybe I just wanted you to know how I felt, before I started making plans to leave. That's all."

"All right. I see." It came out flatter than he'd intended. He didn't want to sound angry. Or maybe he did. He wasn't sure.

Tyler huffed, frustrated. "I'm sorry, Jon. I didn't want to have to make this decision, but..."

"No. I get it. You'd be a fucking idiot to pass up something like this. But you're not. I am."

"Jon-"

"I don't know what I expected." Jon wasn't sure if he'd said that aloud. "I knew that... it was too good. I mean. To happen to me."

"Jon, what are you-?"

He was laughing. It honestly just made so much sense to him. He wasn't sure how he could have thought anything else.

The stubble on his chin jabbed underneath his fingernails. "I knew it. It couldn't work. You're a talented guy, you got all the potential in the world, actual parents. Hell, you even had a childhood. And I'm... I'm just a scumbag. Always have been, always will be. It wouldn't work out. We're too different."

Tyler scowled, not out of umbrage, not even out of hurt, but in Jon's defense. "You know I don't care about that shit. It has nothing to do with your upbringing or any of that-"

"Exactly!" Jon was shouting now, couldn't really speak without doing that. "It has nothing to do with it! Why do you think I'm so fucking upset? It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter how I was raised or how fucked up I am. Because I still lose you no matter what. That's how it works, remember? I explained this shit to you. Anything I'm even remotely attached to just leaves sooner or later. And it's usually sooner."

Tyler's voice was raised as well, but in a way that made it seem like he didn't want it to. "I said I was sorry!"

"And you said you wouldn't hurt me!" It was a growling, snarling, injured sort of roar. It was painful to say, to feel. "You promised." He was cracking at the same time his voice was. His eyes were burning hot and spilling down his cheeks.

He'd turned away, his shoulders shaking and his back heaving. "If it was you... If you got this offer, you wouldn't even hesitate. I actually considered turning it down for a little while, but I know you wouldn't want me to."

"Well clearly I have nothing to do with this." Jon tried to take a deep breath and gagged on it.

"That isn't fair, Jon."

"I agree."

Tyler opened his mouth, raised his hand for emphasis, but dropped both of those actions. Without another word he pulled on his boxers and jeans, carrying his shirt and cap in his hands as he turned around and went for the door. Jon was soon to follow, the both of them stomping out of his bedroom and towards the front door of his apartment. Tyler was slipping his sneakers back on, not even looking back.

"Good!" Jon exclaimed after him. "Great idea, just get it over with and leave now. Fuck, might as well just hop on the plane and go down to Florida tonight, since they're so eager to have you."

He turned on his heel and shouted just inches from Jon's face. "I thought you'd at least be proud of me!"

"Well congrat-u-fucking-lations, Tyler. Or whatever your name is gonna be." Jon whirled away from him, his fingernails digging into his palms.

He heard Tyler sigh and whimper, "I guess I understand if you hate me now."

Jon chuckled. "Believe me. I wish I could hate you."

Tyler sounded like he was making an attempt to respond. But all he managed was a choked-off sob before his footsteps carried him out of the apartment to slam the door behind him.

And after the sound of his footfalls echoed away down the hall, it became so horrendously silent that Jon's ears started to pound.

"I love you, too."

It echoed between what little slivers of light came in from the hallway through his front door frame. He felt as if nails were being driven into his legs as he trudged over to the couch, and kicked over his coffee table before collapsing in a burning heap on the cushions.

And so it went.

Jon Moxley had to survive somehow.

 **~ Epilogue ~**

As always, it never got better. It only got less bad over time.

He survived like he always did. He'd go out with Sami and drink just a bit too much, take on one too many matches, bust himself open the hard way.

But now, a year out from that night, he didn't have to.

It was clean, his new apartment. He hadn't quite had the chance to get it dirty just yet. He had his TV, a bed, and the ridiculous amount of free merchandise they were sending him. He found that John Cena wristbands made decent beer cozies.

A paycheck every single week. No need to make towns. And bleeding was no longer expected of him.

And, it was Florida. So at least it didn't get cold.

It was good. And he hadn't even gotten in the ring yet.

He'd spent many hours on the phone with one Sir William Regal, who had seen his work on the indie circuit and had some rather glowing things to say about it. Half the time was spent not discussing his future, but simply their own passions and favorites in the business. Without having even shaken hands, they were becoming very familiar very quickly. In fact, William insisted on having lunch with him as soon as Jon arrived and got himself settled.

They sat in a small Cuban restaurant near the beach, and Jon thought to himself how oddly normal it felt, sitting across the table from someone he used to see only through the television screen. William was dressed not in his trademark suit, but a corporate t-shirt and jeans. And he was actually perusing the menu, muttering to himself about what he might order. Whereas Jon had decided within moments of sitting down, since there were about three things he actually recognized on the menu.

The older gentleman tapped a finger against the laminate.

"Hm..."

"Hm," Jon agreed.

William snapped the menu shut suddenly and switched on a gentle, pleasant smile. "So! It's rather exciting, isn't it? Biggest stage of them all, and all that."

He began nodding but thought differently of it a moment later. "Well. Not yet. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm fuckin' ecstatic, but it's just gonna be local TV for now, right?"

For how formal and eloquent he was, Regal was surprisingly not perturbed by his gruff demeanor. "True, for now. But I doubt you'll be down here for very long. I've seen what you can do, and I firmly believe that you'll be called up to the main stage in no time at all."

Well that was nice to hear, especially from someone who knew what he was talking about. "Thanks, man. Uh. Sir." It wouldn't do him much good not to pay respect to those with seniority, he realized.

A warm chuckle floated from William. "No need for that, I assure you. You wouldn't call your friends 'sir', would you?"

"Ahh, I dunno, I kinda got some real kinky friends."

They laughed, together. It felt easy. Making friends wasn't always that way for Jon. And as new as it all was to him down here, it helped to have someone willing to be familiar.

"So, uh." It had been bugging him a little bit since they sat down, and it seemed a good time to bring it up. "There a reason we got a table for three?"

"Yes. I apologize for not clearing it with you beforehand, but we're being joined by someone from FCW. I think you might have heard of him, but he's done so much great work already. I think you two should consider working together right from the outset."

Jon felt a smirk come up on his lips. "Well whoever he is, he's fuckin' late. Hope he's a little more diligent in the ring."

William grinned back, almost as if he'd been challenged. "No need to worry about that, I promise." His eye line ticked up and past Jon's shoulder, and he stood. "Ah, speak of the devil."

"Mr. Regal!"

The voice was cocky, kinda high pitched, a little nasally, with the tiniest hint of a lisp.

Jon knew it well. His heart jumped up into his throat as he slowly got to his feet and turned. It was automatic, instinctual. In truth, he was afraid. Truly afraid of how he might look at him, at the expression that might already be on his face in realizing who it was William had brought him to meet.

It was too late, though. Their eyes were locked together.

"Oh."

Jon could have sworn he didn't say anything. But he heard himself say it, and the other had said it at the same time.

William was smiling, so unaware of the gravity of this moment. "Jon, this is Seth Rollins, and Seth, this is Jon Moxley... at least for the moment."

And as the seconds ticked by with no further words spoken, Jon found his chest pounding and quivering, and yet warming at the same time. He watched Seth's expression morph from surprise, to fear, to... relief?

"Hey, man." Jon couldn't think of anything else to say. There was so much to apologize for, so much time to make up, so many things he wanted to tell him that he didn't get a chance to during the past year. But, he had to start somewhere. And that's where it was.

Seth's expression was soft, unsure. It didn't suit him, but Jon understood it.

And then he smiled. He smiled with that gap in his front teeth and that light in his eyes.

"Nice to see ya, Jon."

William looked at one, then the other, and piped up, "Have you two met before?"

Seth gave a small shrug and extended a hand to shake, in spite of the both of them. "It was at a pretty small promotion, I don't think you'd've heard of it. But we've run into each other before."

Jon took his hand, anyway, squeezing just slightly and chuckling, "Yeah... S'good running into you again."

The End.


End file.
